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FROM THE RANKS 








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“You have taught me,” he muttered below his breath. 

Page 172. 


JTrom THE Ranks 


BY 

Gen’l Charles King, U. S.V. 


AUTHOR OF “THE COLONEL’S DAUGHTER,’ * 

“Marion’s faith,” “ kitty’s conquest,” 
“ray’s daughter,” etc. 


tT 




PHILADELPHIA AND LONDON 
J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY 

1902 

0 c 

c O y % 



THE UBRARY OF 
CONGRESS. 

Two CoPiEe Received 

OCT, 19 ,Q 01 

COPVRIOHT EWTRV 

/ qrl 

CLASS Cl XXo. No. 

/ £J l % 0 

COPY A. 



Copyright, 1887 
By J. B. Lippincott Company 

Copyright, 1901 
By J. B. Lippincott Company 


• • • 

• « 


C 


• • • 
• 1 
• •• 





ILECTROTYPED AND PRINTED BY J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY, PHILADELPHIA, U. 8.A.. 


FROM THE RANKS 

• • • 

CHAPTER I. 

A strange thing had happened at the old fort 
during the still watches of the night. Even now, 
at nine in the morning, no one seemed to be in pos- 
session of the exact circumstances. The officer of 
the day was engaged in an investigation, and all 
that appeared to be generally known was the bald 
statement that the sentry on “ Number Five” had 
fired at somebody or other about half after three; 
that he had fired by order of the officer of the day, 
who was on his post at the time ; and that now he 
flatly refused to talk about the matter. 

Garrison curiosity, it is perhaps needless to say, 
was rather stimulated than lulled by this announce- 
ment. An unusual number of officers were chat- 
ting about head-quarters when Colonel Maynard 
came over to his office. Several ladies, too, who 
had hitherto shown but languid interest in the 
morning music of the band, had taken the trouble 
to stroll down to the old quadrangle, ostensibly to 


6 


FROM THE RANKS 


see guard-mounting. Mrs. Maynard was almost 
always on her piazza at this time, and her lovely 
daughter was almost sure to be at the gate with two 
or three young fellows lounging about her. This 
morning, however, not a soul appeared in front of 
the colonel’s quarters. 

Guard-mounting at the fort was not held until 
nine o’clock, contrary to the somewhat general cus- 
tom at other posts in our scattered army. Colonel 
Maynard had ideas of his own upon the subject, 
and it was his theory that everything worked more 
smoothly if he had finished a leisurely breakfast be- 
fore beginning office-work of any kind, and neither 
the colonel nor his family cared to breakfast before 
eight o’clock. In view of the fact that Mrs. May- 
nard had borne that name but a very short time and 
that her knowledge of army life dated only from 
the month of May, the garrison was disposed to 
consider her entitled to much latitude of choice in 
such matters, even while it did say that she was old 
enough to be above bride-like sentiment. The 
women-folk at the fort were of opinion that Mrs. 
Maynard was fifty. It must be conceded that she 
was over forty, also that this was her second entry 
into the bonds of matrimony. 

That no one should now appear on the colonel’s 


FROM THE RANKS 


7 


piazza was obviously a disappointment to several 
people. In some way or other most of the break- 
fast-tables at the post had been enlivened by ac- 
counts of the mysterious shooting. The soldiers 
going the rounds with the “ police-cart,” the 
butcher and grocer and baker from town, the old 
milkwoman with her glistening cans, had all served 
as newsmongers from kitchen to kitchen, and the 
story that came in with the coffee to the lady of 
the house had lost nothing in bulk or bravery. The 
groups of officers chatting and smoking in front 
of head-quarters gained accessions every moment, 
while the ladies seemed more absorbed in chat and 
confidences than in the sweet music of the band. 

What fairly exasperated some men was the fact 
that the old officer of the day was not out on the 
parade where he belonged. Only the new incum- 
bent was standing there in statuesque pose as the 
band trooped along the line, and the fact that the 
colonel had sent out word that the ceremony would 
proceed without Captain Chester only served to add 
fuel to the flame of popular conjecture. It was 
known that the colonel was holding a consultation 
with closed doors with the old officer of the day, 
and never before since he came to the regiment had 
the colonel been known to look so pale and strange 


8 


FROM THE RANKS 


as when he glanced out for just one moment and 
called his orderly. The soldier sprang up, saluted, 
received his message, and, with every eye following 
him, sped off towards the old stone guard-house. 
In three minutes he was on his way back, accom- 
panied by a corporal and private of the guard in 
full dress uniform. 

“ That’s Leary, — the man who fired the shot,” 
said Captain Wilton to his senior lieutenant, who 
stood by his side. 

“ Belongs to B Company, doesn’t he ?” queried 
the subaltern. “ Seems to me I have heard Captain 
Armitage say he was one of his best men.” * 

“ Yes. He’s been in the regiment as long as I 
can remember. What on earth can the colonel 
want him for? Near as I can learn, he only fired 
by Chester’s order.” 

“ And neither of them knows what he fiered at.” 

It was perhaps ten minutes more before Private 
Leary came forth from the door-way of the colo- 
nel’s office, nodded to the corporal, and, raising 
their white-gloved hands in salute to the group of 
officers, the two men tossed their rifles to the right 
shoulder and strode back to the guard. 

Another moment, and the colonel himself opened 
his door and appeared in the hall-way. He stopped 


FROM THE RANKS 


9 


abruptly, turned back and spoke a few words in low 
tone, then hurried through the groups at the en- 
trance, looking at no man, avoiding their glances, 
and giving faint and impatient return to the 
soldierly salutations that greeted him. The sweat 
was beaded on his forehead; his lips were white, 
and his face full of a trouble and dismay no man 
had ever seen there before. He spoke to no one, 
but walked rapidly homeward, entered, and closed 
the gate and door behind him. 

For a moment there was silence in the group. 
Few men in the service were better loved and hon- 
ored than the veteran soldier who commanded the 

th Infantry ; and it was with genuine concern 

that his officers saw him so deeply and painfully 
affected, — for affected he certainly was. Never be- 
fore had his cheery voice denied them a cordial 
“ Good-morning, gentlemen.” Never before had 
his blue eyes flinched. He had been their comrade 
and commander in years of frontier service, and 
his bachelor home had been the rendezvous of all 
genial spirits when in garrison. They had missed 
him sorely when he went abroad on long leave the 
previous year, and were almost indignant when 
they received the news that he had met his fate in 
Italy and would return married. “ She” was the 


10 


FROM THE RANKS 


widow of a wealthy New Yorker who had been 
dead some three years only, and, though over forty, 
did not look her years to masculine eyes when she 
reached the fort in May. After knowing her a 
week, the garrison had decided to a man that the 
colonel had done wisely. Mrs. Maynard was 
charming, courteous, handsome, and accomplished. 
Only among the women were there still a few who 
resented their colonel’s capture ; and some of these, 
oblivious of the fact that they had tempted him 
with relations of their own, were sententious and 
severe in their condemnation of second marriage; 
for the colonel, too, was indulging in a second 
experiment. Of his first, only one man in the 
regiment, besides the commander, could tell any- 
thing; and he, to the just indignation of almost 
everybody, would not discuss the subject. It was 
rumored that in the old days when Maynard was 
senior captain and Chester junior subaltern in their 
former regiment the two had very little in common. 
It was known that the first Mrs. Maynard, while 
still young and beautiful, had died abroad. It was 
hinted that the resignation of a dashing lieutenant 
of the regiment, which was synchronous with her 
departure for foreign shores, was demanded by his 
brother officers ; but it was useless asking Captain 


FROM THE RANKS 


ii 


Chester. He could not tell; and — wasn’t it odd? 
— here was Chester again, the only man in the 
colonel’s confidence in an hour of evident trouble. 

“ By Jove ! what’s gone wrong with the chief?” 
was the first exclamation from one of the older 
officers. “ I never saw him look so broken.” 

As no explanation suggested itself, they began 
edging in towards the office. The door stood open ; 
a hand-bell banged; a clerk darted in from the 
sergeant-major’s rooms, and Captain Chester was 
revealed seated at the colonel’s desk. This in itself 
was sufficient to induce several officers to stroll in 
and look inquiringly around. Captain Chester, 
merely nodding, went on with some writing at 
which he was engaged. 

After a moment’s awkward silence and uneasy 
glancing at one another, the party seemed to arrive 
at the conclusion that it was time to speak. The 
band had ceased, and the new guard had marched 
away behind its pealing bugles. Lieutenant Hall 
winked at his comrades, strolled hesitatingly over 
to the desk, balanced unsteadily on one leg, and, 
with his hands sticking in his trousers-pockets and 
his forage-cap swinging from protruding thumb 
and forefinger, cleared his throat, and, with marked 
lack of confidence, accosted his absorbed superior : 


12 


FROM THE RANKS 


“ Colonel gone home ?” 

“ Didn’t you see him?” was the uncompromising 
reply; and the captain did not deign to raise his 
head or eyes. 

“ Well — er — yes, I suppose I did,” said Mr. Hall, 
shifting uncomfortably to his other leg, and prod- 
ding the floor with the toe of his boot. 

“ Then that wasn’t what you wanted to know, 
I presume,” said Captain Chester, signing his name 
with a vicious dab of the pen and bringing his fist 
down with a thump on the blotting-pad, while he 
wheeled around in his chair and looked squarely up 
into the perturbed features of the junior. 

“ No, it wasn’t,” answered Mr. Hall, in an in- 
jured tone, while an audible snicker at the door 
added to his sense of discomfort. “ What I mainly 
wanted was to know could I go to town.” 

“ That matter is easily arranged, Mr. Hall. All 
you have to do is to get out of that uncomfortable 
and unsoldierly position, stand in the attitude in 
which you are certainly more at home and in- 
finitely more picturesque, proffer your request in 
respectful words, and there is no question as to the 
result.” 

“ Oh ! you’re in command, then ?” said Mr. 
Hall, slowly wriggling into the position of the 


FROM THE RANKS 


13 


Soldier and flushing through his bronzed cheeks. 
“ I thought the colonel might be only gone for a 
minute.” 

“ The colonel may not be back for a week ; but 

you be here for dress-parade all the same, and 

Mr. Hall !” he called, as the young officer was turn- 
ing away. The latter faced about again. 

“ Was Mr. Jerrold going with you to town?” 

“ Yes, sir. He was to drive me in his dog-cart, 
and it’s over here now.” 

“ Mr. Jerrold cannot go, — at least not until I 
have seen him.” 

“ Why, captain, he got the colonel’s permission 
at breakfast this morning.” 

“ That is true, no doubt, Mr. Hall.” And the 
captain dropped his sharp and captious manner, 
and his voice fell, as though in sympathy with the 
cloud that settled on his face. “ I cannot explain 
matters just now. There are reasons why the 
permission is withdrawn for the time being. The 
adjutant will notify him.” And Captain Chester 
turned to his desk again as the new officer of the 
day, guard-book in hand, entered to make his re- 
port. 

“ The usual orders, captain,” said Chester, as he 
took the book from his hand and looked over the 


14 


FROM THE RANKS 


list of prisoners. Then, in bold and rapid strokes, 
he wrote across the page the customary certificate 
of the old officer of the day, winding up with this 
remark : 

“ He also inspected guard and visited sentries 
between 3 and 3.35 a.m. The firing at 3.30 a.m. 
was by his order.” 

Meantime, those officers who had entered and 
who had no immediate duty to perform were stand- 
ing or seated around the room, but all observing 
profound silence. For a moment or two no sound 
was heard but the scratching of the captain’s pen. 
Then, with some embarrassment and hesitancy, he 
laid it down and glanced around him. 

“ Has any one here anything to ask, — any busi- 
ness to transact ?” 

Two or three mentioned some routine matters 
that required the action of the post-commander, 
but did so reluctantly, as though they preferred to 
await the orders of the colonel himself. Captain 
Wilton, indeed, spoke his sentiments : 

“ I wanted to see Colonel Maynard about getting 
two men of my company relieved from extra duty ; 
but, as he isn’t here, I fancy I had better wait.” 

“ Not at all. Who are your men ? — Have it done 
at once, Mr. Adjutant, and supply their places from 


FROM THE RANKS 


15 

my company, if need be. Now is there anything 
else?” 

The group was apparently “ nonplussed,” as the 
adjutant afterwards put it, by such unlooked-for 
complaisance on the part of the usually crotchety 
senior captain. Still, no one offered to lead the 
others and leave the room. After a moment’s 
nervous rapping with his knuckles on the desk, 
Captain Chester again abruptly spoke : 

“ Gentlemen, I am sorry to incommode you, but, 
if there be nothing more that you desire to see me 
about, I shall go on with some other matters, which 
— pardon me — do not require your presence.” 

At this very broad hint the party slowly found 
their legs, and with much wonderment and not a 
few resentful glances at their temporary com- 
mander the officers sauntered to the door-way. 
There, however, several stopped again, still reluc- 
tant to leave in the face of so pervading a mystery, 
for Wilton turned. 

“ Am I to understand that Colonel Maynard has 
left the post to be gone any length of time?” he 
asked. 

“ He has not yet gone. I do not know how long 
he will be gone or how soon he will start. For 
pressing personal reasons he has turned over the 


i6 


FROM THE RANKS 


command to me ; and, if he decide to remain away, 
of course some field-officer will be ordered to come 
to head-quarters. For a day or two you will have 
to worry along with me; but I shan’t worry you 
more than I can help. I’ve got mystery and mis- 
chief enough here to keep me busy, God knows. 
Just ask Sloat to come back here to me, will you? 
And — Wilton, I did not mean to be abrupt with 
you. I’m all upset to-day. Mr. Adjutant, notify 
Mr. Jerrold at once that he must not leave the post 
until I have seen him. It is the colonel’s last order. 
Tell him so.” 


CHAPTER II. 

The night before had been unusually dark. A 
thick veil of clouds overspread the heavens and hid 
the stars. Moon there was none, for the faint 
silver crescent that gleamed for a moment through 
the swift-sailing wisps of vapor had dropped be- 
neath the horizon soon after tattoo, and the mourn- 
ful strains of “ taps,” borne on the rising wind, 
seemed to signal “ extinguished lights” to the en- 
tire firmament as well as to Fort Sibley. There 
was a dance of some kind at the quarters of one of 
the staff-officers living far up the row on the 
southern terrace. Chester heard the laughter and 
chat as the young officers and their convoy of ma- 
trons and maids came tripping homeward after 
midnight. He was a crusty old bachelor, to use his 
own description, and rarely ventured into these 
scenes of social gayety, and, besides, he was officer 
of the day, and it was a theory he was fond of ex- 
pounding to juniors that when on guard no soldier 
should permit himself to be drawn from the scene 
of his duties. With his books and his pipe Chester 
whiled away the lonely hours of the early night, 

1 7 


2 


i8 


FROM THE RANKS 


and wondered if the wind would blow up a rain or 
disperse the clouds entirely. Towards one o’clock 
a light, bounding footstep approached his door, and 
the portal flew open as a trim-built young fellow 
with laughing eyes and an air of exuberant health 
and spirits came briskly in. It was Rollins, the 
junior second lieutenant of the regiment, and Ches- 
ter’s own and only pet, — so said the envious others. 
He was barely a year out of leading-strings at the 
Point, and as full of hope and pluck and mischief 
as a colt. Moreover, he was frank and teachable, 
said Chester, and didn’t come to him with the idea 
that he had nothing to learn and less to do. The 
boy won upon his gruff captain from the very start, 
and, to the incredulous delight of the whole regi- 
ment, within six months the old cynic had taken 
him into his heart and home, and Mr. Rollins occu- 
pied a pleasant room under Chester’s roof-tree, and 
was the sole accredited sharer of the captain’s mess. 
To a youngster just entering service, whose ambi- 
tion it was to stick to business and make a record 
for zeal and efficiency, these were manifest advan- 
tages. There were men in the regiment to whom 
such close communion with a watchful senior would 
have been most embarrassing, and Mr. Rollins’s 
predecessor as second lieutenant of Chester’s com- 


FROM THE RANKS 


19 


pany was one of these. Mr. Jerrold was a happy 
man when promotion took him from under the 
wing of “ Crusty Jake” and landed him in Com- 
pany B. More than that, it came just at a time 
when, after four years of loneliness and isolation 
at an up-river stockade, his new company and his 
old one, together with four others from the regi- 
ment, were ordered to join head-quarters and the 
band at the most delightful station in the North- 
west. Here Mr. Rollins had reported for duty 
during the previous autumn, and here they were 
with troops of other arms of the service, enjoying 
the close proximity of all the good things of civili- 
zation. 

Chester looked up with a quizzical smile as his 
“ plebe” came in : 

“ Well, sir, how many dances had you with 
* Sweet Alice, Ben Bolt’? Not many, I fancy, with 
Mr. Jerrold monopolizing everything, as usual. By 
gad ! some good fellow could make a colossal for- 
tune in buying that young man at my valuation and 
selling him at his own.” 

“ Oh, come, now, captain,” laughed Rollins, 
“Jerrold’s no such slouch as you make him out. 
He’s lazy, and he likes to spoon, and he puts up 
with a good deal of petting from the girls, — who 


20 


FROM THE RANKS 


wouldn’t if he could get it? — but he is jolly and 
big-hearted, and don’t put on any airs, — with us, at 
least, and the mess like him first-rate. ’Tain’t his 
fault that he’s handsome and a regular lady-killer. 
You must admit that he had a pretty tough four 
years of it up there at that cussed old Indian grave- 
yard, and it’s only natural he should enjoy getting 
here, where there are theatres and concerts and 
operas and dances and dinners ” 

“ Yes, dances and dinners and daughters, — all 
delightful, I know, but no excuse for a man’s neg- 
lecting his manifest duty, as he is doing and has 
been ever since we got here. Any other time the 
colonel would have straightened him out; but no 
use trying it now, when both women in his house- 
hold are as big fools about the man as anybody in 
town, — bigger, unless I’m a born idiot.” And 
Chester rose excitedly. 

“ I suppose he had Miss Renwick pretty much 
to himself to-night ?” he presently demanded, look- 
ing angrily and searchingly at his junior, as though 
half expecting him to dodge the question. 

“ Oh, yes. Why not? It’s pretty evident she 
would rather dance and be with him than with any 
one else: so what can a fellow do? Of course we 
ask her to dance, and all that, and I think he wants 


FROM THE RANKS 


21 


us to; but I cannot help feeling rather a bore to 
her, even if she is only eighteen, and there are 
plenty of pleasant girls in the garrison who don’t 
get any too much attention, now we’re so near a 
big city, and I like to be with them.” 

“ Yes, and it’s the right thing for you to do, 
youngster. That’s one trait I despise in Jerrold. 
When we were up there at the stockade two win- 
ters ago, and Captain Gray’s little girl was there, 
he hung around her from morning till night, and 
the poor little thing fairly beamed and blossomed 
with delight. Look at her now, man! He don’t 
go near her. He hasn’t had the decency to take her 
a walk, a drive, or anything, since we got here. 
He began, from the moment we came, with that 
gang in town. He was simply devoted to Miss 
Beaubien until Alice Renwick came ; then he 
dropped her like a hot brick. By the Eternal, Rol- 
lins, he hasn’t gotten off with that old love yet, you 
mark my words. There’s Indian blood in her 
veins, and a look in her eye that makes me wriggle, 
sometimes. I watched her last night at parade 
when she drove out here with that copper-faced old 
squaw, her mother. For all her French and Italian 
education and her years in New York and Paris, 
that girl’s got a wild streak in her somewhere. She 


22 


FROM THE RANKS 


sat there watching him as the officers marched to 
the front, and then her , as he went up and joined 
Miss Renwick ; and there was a gleam of her white 
teeth and a flash in her black eyes that made me 
think of the leap of a knife from the sheath. Not 
but what ’twould serve him right if she did 
play him some devil's trick. It's his own doing. 
Were any people out from town?” he suddenly 
asked. 

“ Yes, half a dozen or so,” answered Mr. Rol- 
lins, who was pulling off his boots and inserting 
his feet into easy slippers, while old “ Crusty” 
tramped excitedly up and down the floor. “ Most 
of them stayed out here, I think. Only one team 
went back across the bridge.” 

“ Whose was that ?” 

“ The Suttons’, I believe. Young Cub Sutton 
was out with his sister and another girl.” 

“ There’s another damned fool !” growled Ches- 
ter. “ That boy has ten thousand a year of his 
own, a beautiful home that will be his, a doting 
mother and sister, and everything wealth can 
buy, and yet, by gad! he’s unhappy because he 
can’t be a poor devil of a lieutenant, with nothing 
but drills, debts, and rifle-practice to enliven him. 
That’s what brings him out here all the time. 


FROM THE RANKS 


23 

He’d swap places with you in a minute. Isn’t he 
very thick with Jerrold?” 

“ Oh, yes, rather. Jerrold entertains him a 
good deal.” 

“ Which is returned with compound interest, 
I’ll bet you. Mr. Jerrold simply makes a conveni- 
ence of him. He won’t make love to his sister, 
because the poor, rich, unsophisticated girl is as 
ugly as she is ubiquitous. His majesty is fastidi- 
ous, you see, and seeks only the caress of beauty, 
and while he lives there at the Suttons’ when he 
goes to town, and dines and sleeps and smokes and 
wines there, and uses their box at the opera-house, 
and is courted and flattered by the old lady be- 
cause dear Cubby worships the ground he walks 
on and poor Fanny Sutton thinks him adorable, 
he turns his back on the girl at every dance be- 
cause she can’t dance, and leaves her to you fel- 
lows who have a conscience and some idea of 
decency. He gives all his devotions to Nina Beau- 
bien, who dances like a coryphee , and drops her 
when Alice Renwick comes with her glowing 
Spanish beauty. Oh, damn it, I’m an old fool to 
get worked up over it as I do, but you young fel- 
lows don’t see what I see. You haven’t seen what 
I’ve seen; and pray God you never may! That’s 


24 


FROM THE RANKS 


where the shoe pinches, Rollins. It is what he re- 
minds me of — not so much what he is, I suppose — 
that I get rabid about. He is for all the world 
like a man we had in the old regiment when you 
were in swaddling-clothes; and I never look at 
Mamie Gray’s sad, white face that it doesn’t bring 
back a girl I knew just then whose heart was 
broken by just such a shallow, selfish, adorable 

scoun No, I won’t use that word in speaking 

of Jerrold; but it’s what I fear. Rollins, you call 
him generous. Well, so he is, — lavish, if you like, 
with his money and his hospitality here in the post. 
Money comes easily to him, and goes; but you 
boys misuse the term. I call him selfish to the 
core, because he can deny himself no luxury, no 
pleasure, though it may wring a woman’s life — 
or, more than that, her honor — to give it him.” 
The captain was tramping up and down the room 
now, as was his wont when excited; his face was 
flushed, and his hand clinched. He turned sud- 
denly and faced the younger officer, who sat 
gazing uncomfortably at the rug in front of the 
fireplace : 

“ Rollins, some day I may tell you a story that 
I’ve kept to myself all these years. You won’t 
wonder at my feeling as I do about these goings- 


FROM THE RANKS 


25 


on of your friend Jerrold when you hear it all, 
but it was just such a man as he who ruined one 
woman, broke the heart of another, and took the 
sunshine out of the life of two men from that day 
to this. One of them was your colonel, the other 
your captain. Now go to bed. Fm going out.” 
And, throwing down his pipe, regardless of the 
scattering sparks and ashes, Captain Chester strode 
into the hall-way, picked up the first forage-cap 
he laid hands on, and banged himself out of the 
front door. 

Mr. Rollins remained for some moments in the 
same attitude, still gazing abstractedly at the rug, 
and listening to the nervous tramp of his senior 
officer on the piazza without. Then he slowly and 
thoughtfully went to his room, where his per- 
turbed spirit was soon soothed in sleep. His con- 
science being clear and his health perfect, there 
were no deep cares to keep him tossing on a rest- 
less pillow. 

To Chester, however, sleep was impossible : he 
tramped the piazza a full hour before he felt placid 
enough to go and inspect his guard. The sentries 
were calling three o’clock, and the wind had died 
away, as he started on his round. Dark as was the 
night, he carried no lantern. The main garrison 


26 


FROM THE RANKS 


was well lighted by lamps, and the road circling 
the old fort was broad, smooth, and bordered by 
a stone coping wall where it skirted the precipitous 
descent into the river-bottom. As he passed down 
the plank walk west of the quadrangle wherein lay 
the old barracks and the stone quarters of the com- 
manding officer and the low one-storied row of 
bachelor dens, he could not help noting the silence 
and peace of the night. Not a light was visible at 
any window as he strode down the line. The chal- 
lenge of the sentry at the old stone tower sounded 
unnecessarily sharp and loud, and his response of 
“ Officer of the day” was lower than usual, as 
though rebuking the unseemly outcry. The guard 
came scrambling out and formed hurriedly to re- 
ceive him, but the captain’s inspection was of the 
briefest kind. Barely glancing along the prison 
corridor to see that the bars were in place, he 
turned back into the night, and made for the line 
of posts along the river-bank. The sentry at the 
high bridge across the gorge, and the next one, 
well around to the southeast flank, were success- 
ively visited and briefly questioned as to their in- 
structions, and then the captain plodded sturdily 
on until he came to the sharp bend around the 
outermost angle of the fort and found himself 


FROM THE RANKS 


27 


passing behind the quarters of the commanding 
officer, a substantial two-storied stone house with 
mansard roof and dormer-windows. The road 
in the rear was some ten feet below the level of the 
parade inside the quadrangle, and consequently, as 
the house faced the parade, what was the ground- 
floor from that front became the second story at 
the rear. The kitchen, store-room, and servants’ 
rooms were on this lower stage, and opened upon 
the road; an outer stairway ran up to the centre 
door at the back, but at the east and west flanks of 
the house the stone walls stood without port or 
window except those above the eaves, — the dor- 
mers. Light and air in abundance streamed 
through the broad Venetian windows north and 
south when light and air were needed. This night, 
as usual, all was tightly closed below, all darkness 
aloft as he glanced up at the dormers high above 
his head. As he did so, his foot struck a sudden 
and sturdy obstacle; he stumbled and pitched 
heavily forward, and found himself sprawling at 
full length upon a ladder lying on the ground 
almost in the middle of the roadway. 

“ Damn those painters !” he growled between his 
set teeth. “They leave their infernal man-traps 
around in the very hope of catching me, I believe. 


28 


FROM THE RANKS 


Now, who but a painter would have left a ladder 
in such a place as this?” 

Rising ruefully and rubbing a bruised knee with 
his hand, he limped painfully ahead a few steps, 
until he came to the side- wall of the colonel’s house. 
Here a plank walk passed from the roadway along 
the western wall until almost on a line with the 
front piazza, where by a flight of steps it was car- 
ried up to the level of the parade. Here he paused 
a moment to dust off his clothes and rearrange his 
belt and sword. He stood leaning against the wall 
and facing the gray stone gable end of the row of 
old-fashioned quarters that bounded the parade 
upon the southwest. All was still darkness and 
silence. 

“ Confound this sword !” he muttered again : 
“ the thing made rattle and racket enough to wake 
the dead. Wonder if I disturbed anybody at the 
colonel’s.” 

As though in answer to his suggestion, there 
suddenly appeared, high on the blank wall before 
him, the reflection of a faint light. Had a little 
night-lamp been turned on in the front room of the 
upper story ? The gleam came from the north win- 
dow on the side : he saw plainly the shadow of the 
pretty lace curtains, looped loosely back. Then the 


FROM THE RANKS 


29 


shade was gently raised, and there was for an in- 
stant the silhouette of a slender hand and wrist, 
the shadow of a lace-bordered sleeve. Then the 
light receded, as though carried back across the 
room, waned, as though slowly extinguished, and 
the last shadows showed the curtains still looped 
back, the rolling shade still raised. 

“ I thought so,” he growled. “ One tumble like 
that is enough to wake the Seven Sleepers, let 
alone a love-sick girl who is probably dreaming 
over Jerrold’s parting words. She is spirited and 
blue-blooded enough to have more sense, too, that 
same superb brunette. Ah, Miss Alice, I wonder 
if you think that fellow’s love worth having. It 
is two hours since he left you, — more than that, — 
and here you are awake yet, — cannot sleep, — want 
more air, and have to come and raise your shade. 
No such warm night, either.” These were his 
reflections as he picked up his offending sword 
and, more slowly and cautiously now, groped his 
way along the western terrace. He passed the row 
of bachelor quarters, and was well out beyond the 
limits of the fort before he came upon the next 
sentry, — “ Number Five,” — and recognized, in the 
stern “ Who comes there ?” and the sharp rattle 
of the bayonet as it dropped to the charge, the well- 


30 


FROM THE RANKS 


known challenge of Private Leary, one of the old- 
est and most reliable soldiers in the regiment. 

“ All right on your post, Leary?” he asked, after 
having given the countersign. 

“ All right, I think, sor ; though if the captain 
had asked me that half an hour ago I’d not have 
said so. It was so dark I couldn’t see me hand 
afore me face, sor; but about half-past two I was 
walkin’ very slow down back of the quarters, whin 
just close by Loot’nant Jerrold’s back gate I seen 
somethin’ movin’, and as I come softly along it riz 
up, an’ sure I thought ’twas the loot’nant himself, 
whin he seemed to catch sight o’ me or hear me, 
and he backed inside the gate an’ shut it. I was 
sure ’twas he, he was so tall and slim like, an’ so I 
niver said a word until I got to thinkin’ over it, 
and then I couldn’t spake. Sure if it had been the 
'loot’nant he wouldn’t have backed away from a 
sintry; he’d ’a’ come out bold and given the coun- 
tersign ; but I didn’t think o’ that. It looked like 
him in the dark, an’ ’twas his quarters, an’ I 
thought it was him, until I thought ag’in, and then, 
sor, I wint back and searched the yard; but there 
was no one there.” 

“ Hm ! Odd thing that, Leary ! Why didn’t 
you challenge at first?” 


FROM THE RANKS 


3i 


“ Sure, sor, he lept inside the fince as quick as 
iver we set eyes on each other. He was bendin’ 
down, and I thought it was one of the hound pups 
when I first sighted him.” 

“ And he hasn’t been around since ?” 

“ No, sor, nor nobody, till the officer of the day 
came along.” 

Chester walked away puzzled. Sibley was a 
most quiet and orderly garrison. Night prowlers 
had never been heard from, especially over here 
at the south and southwest fronts. The enlisted 
men going to or from town passed across the big, 
high bridge or went at once to their own quarters 
on the east and north. This southwestern terrace 
behind the bachelors’ row was the most secluded 
spot on the whole post, — so much so that when a 
fire broke out there among the fuel-heaps one sharp 
winter’s night a year agone it had wellnigh envel- 
oped the whole line before its existence was dis- 
covered. Indeed, not until after this occurrence 
was a sentry posted on that front at all ; and, once 
ordered there, he had so little to do and was so 
comparatively sure to be undisturbed that the old 
soldiers eagerly sought the post in preference to 
any other, and were given it as a peace privilege.- 
For months, relief after relief tramped around the 


32 


FROM THE RANKS 


fort and found the terrace post as humdrum and 
silent as an empty church ; but this night “ Num- 
ber Five” leaped suddenly into notoriety. 

Instead of going home, Chester kept on across 
the plateau and took a long walk on the northern 
side of the reservation, where the quartermaster's 
stables and corrals were placed. He was affected 
by a strange unrest. His talk with Rollins had 
roused the memories of years long gone by, — of 
days when he, too, was young and full of hope and 
faith, ay, full of love, — all lavished on one fair 
girl who knew it well, but gently, almost entreat- 
ingly, repelled him. Her heart was wrapped up 
in another, the Adonis of his day in the gay old 
seaboard garrison. She was a soldier's child, bar- 
rack-born, simply taught, knowing little of the vice 
and temptations, the follies and the frauds, of the 
whirling life of civilization. A good and gentle 
mother had reared her and been called hence. Her 
father, an officer whose sabre-arm was left at Mo- 
lino del Rey, and whose heart was crushed when 
the loving wife was taken from him, turned to the 
child who resembled her, and centred there all his 
remaining love and life. He welcomed Chester 
to his home, and tacitly favored his suit, but in his 
blindness never saw how a few moonlit strolls on 


FROM THE RANKS 


33 


the old moss-grown parapet, a few evening dances 
in the casemates with handsome, wooing, winning 
[Will Forrester, had done their work. She gave 
him all the wild, enthusiastic, worshipping love of 
her girlish heart just about the time Captain and 
Mrs. Maynard came back from leave, and then he 
grew cold and negligent there, but lived at May- 
nard’s fireside ; and one day there came a sensation, 
— a tragedy, — and Mrs. Maynard went away, and 
died abroad, and a shocked and broken-hearted 
girl hid her face from all and pined at home, and 
Mr. Forrester’s resignation was sent from — no one 
knew just where, and no one would have cared to 
know, except Maynard. He would have followed 
him, pistol in hand, but Forrester gave him no 
chance. Years afterwards Chester again sought 
her and offered her his love and his name. It 
was useless, she told him, sadly. She lived only 
for her father now, and would never leave him till 
he died, and then — she prayed she might go too. 
Memories like this will come up at such times in 
these same “ still watches of the night.” Chester 
was in a moody frame of mind when about half 
an hour later he came back past the guard-house. 
The sergeant was standing near the lighted en- 
trance, and the captain called him : 

3 


34 


FROM THE RANKS 


“ There's a ladder lying back of the colonel's 
quarters on the roadway. Some of those painters 
left it, I suppose. It's a wonder some of the reliefs 
have not broken their necks over it going around 
to-night. Let the next one pick it up and move it 
out of the way. Hasn't it been reported ?" 

“ Not to me, sir. Corporal Schreiber has com- 
mand of this relief, and he has said nothing about 
it. Here he is, sir." 

“ Didn’t you see it or stumble over it when post- 
ing your relief, corporal ?" asked Chester. 

“ No indeed, sir. I — I think the captain must 
have been mistaken in thinking it a ladder. We 
would surely have struck it if it had been." 

“ No mistake at all, corporal. I lifted it. It is a 
long, heavy ladder, — over twenty feet, I should 
say." 

“ There is such a ladder back there, captain," 
said the sergeant, “ but it always hangs on the 
fence just behind the young officers' quarters, — 
Bachelors' Row, sir, I mean." 

“ And that ladder was there an hour ago when I 
went my rounds," said the corporal, earnestly. “ I 
had my hurricane-lamp, sir, and saw it on the 
fence plainly. And there was nothing behind the 
colonel's at that hour.” 


FROM THE RANKS 


35 

Chester turned away, thoughtful and silent. 
Without a word he walked straight into the quad- 
rangle, past the low line of stone buildings, the 
offices of the adjutant and quartermaster, the home 
of the sergeant-major, the club- and billiard-room, 
past the long, piazza-shaded row of bachelor quar- 
ters, and came upon the plank walk at the corner 
of the colonel’s fence. Ten more steps, and he 
stood stock-still at the head of the flight of wooden 
stairs. 

There, dimly visible against the southern sky, its 
base on the plank walk below him, its top resting 
upon the eaves midway between the dormer-win- 
dow and the roof of the piazza, so that one could 
step easily from it into the one or on to the other, 
was the very ladder that half an hour before was 
lying on the ground behind the house. 

His heart stood still. He seemed powerless to 
move, — even to think. Then a slight noise roused 
him, and with every nerve tingling he crouched 
ready for a spring. With quick, agile movements, 
noiseless as a cat, sinuous and stealthy as a ser- 
pent, the dark figure of a man issued from Alice 
Renwick’s chamber window and came gliding 
down. 

One second more, and, almost as noiselessly, he 


36 


FROM THE RANKS 


reached the ground, then quickly raised and turned 
the ladder, stepped with it to the edge of the road- 
way, and peered around the angle as though to see 
that no sentry was in sight, then vanished with his 
burden around the corner. Another second, and 
down the steps went Chester, three at a bound, tip- 
toeing it in pursuit. Ten seconds brought him 
close to the culprit, — a tall, slender shadow. 

“ You villain! Halt!” 

Down went the ladder on the dusty road. The 
hand that Chester had clinched upon the broad 
shoulder was hurled aside. There was a sudden 
whirl, a lightning blow that took the captain full in 
the chest and staggered him back upon the 
treacherous and entangling rungs, and, ere he could 
recover himself, the noiseless stranger had fairly 
whizzed into space and vanished in the darkness 
up the road. Chester sprang in pursuit. He heard 
the startled challenge of the sentry, and then 
Leary’s excited “ Halt, I say ! Halt !” and then he 
shouted, — 

“ Fire on him, Leary ! Bring him down !” 

Bang went the ready rifle with sharp, sullen roar 
that woke the echoes across the valley. Bang 
again, as Leary sent a second shot after the first. 
Then, as the captain came panting to the spot, they 


FROM THE RANKS 


37 


followed up the road. No sign of the runner. At- 
tracted by the shots, the sergeant of the guard and 
one or two men, lantern-bearing, came running to 
the scene. Excitedly they searched up and down 
the road in mingled hope and dread of finding the 
body of the marauder, or some clue or trace. 
Nothing! Whoever he was, the fleet runner had 
vanished and made good his escape. 

“ Who could it have been, sir ?” asked the ser- 
geant of the officer of the day. “ Surely none of 
the men ever come around this way.” 

“ I don’t know, sergeant ; I don’t know. Just 
take your lamp and see if there is anything visible 
down there among the rocks. He may have been 
hit and leaped the wall. — Do you think you hit him, 
Leary?” 

“ I can’t say, sor. He came by me like a flash. 

I had just a second’s look at him, and Sure I 

niver saw such runnin’.” 

“ Could you see his face?” asked Chester, in a 
low tone, as the other men moved away to search 
the rocks. 

“ Not his face, sor. ’Twas too dark.” 

“ Was there — did he look like anybody you 
knew, or had seen ? — anybody in the command ?” 

“ Well, sor, not among the men, that is. There’s 


38 


FROM THE RANKS 


none’s so tall and slim both, and so light. Sure he 
must ’a’ worn gums, sor. You couldn’t hear the 
whisper of a footfall.” 

“ But whom did he seem to resemble ?” 

“ Well, if the captain will forgive me, sor, it’s 
unwillin’ I am to say the worrd, but there’s no one 
that tall and light and slim here, sor, but Loot’nant 
Jerrold. Sure it couldn’t be him, sor.” 

“ Leary, will you promise me something on your 
word as a man ?” 

“ I will, sor.” 

“ Say not one word of this matter to any one, ex- 
cept I tell you, or you have to, before a court.” 

“ I promise, sor.” 

“ And I believe you. Tell the sergeant I will 
soon be back.” 

With that he turned and walked down the road 
until once more he came to the plank crossing and 
the passage-way between the colonel’s and Bach- 
elors’ Row. Here again he stopped short, and 
waited with bated breath and scarcely-beating 
heart. The faint light he had seen before again 
illumined the room and cast its gleam upon the old 
gray wall. Even as he gazed, there came silently 
to the window a tall, white-robed form, and a slen- 
der white hand seized and lowered the shade, noise- 


FROM THE RANKS 


39 

lessly. Then, as before, the light faded away ; but 
— she was awake. 

Waiting one moment in silence, Captain Chester 
then sprang up the wooden steps and passed under 
the piazza which ran the length of the bachelor 
quarters. Half-way down the row he turned 
sharply to his left, opened the green-painted door, 
and stood in a little dark hall- way. Taking his 
match-box from his pocket, he struck a light, and 
by its glare quickly read the card upon the first 
door-way to his right : 

“ Mr. Howard F. Jerrold, 

“ th Infantry , US .A ." 

Opening this door, he bolted through the little 
parlor to the bedroom in the rear. A dim light 
was burning on the mantel. The bed was unrufled, 
untouched, and Mr. Jerrold was not there. 

Five minutes afterwards, Captain Chester, all 
alone, had laboriously and cautiously dragged the 
ladder from the side to the rear of the colonel's 
house, stretched it in the roadway where he had 
first stumbled upon it, then returned to the search- 
ing-party on “ Number Five." 

“ Send two men to put that ladder back," he 
ordered. “ It is where I told you, — on the road 
behind the colonel's." 


CHAPTER III 


When Mrs. Maynard came to Sibley in May 
and the officers with their wives were making their 
welcoming call, she had with motherly pride and 
pleasure yielded to their constant importunities and 
shown to one party after another an album of pho- 
tographs, — likenesses of her only daughter. There 
were little cartes de visite representing her in long 
dresses and baby-caps; quaint little pictures of a 
chubby-faced, chubby-legged infant a few months 
older; charming studies of a little girl with great 
black eyes and delicate features; then of a tall, 
slender slip of a maiden, decidedly foreign-looking ; 
then of a sweet and pensive face, with great dark 
eyes, long, beautiful curling lashes, and very heavy, 
low-arched brows, exquisitely moulded mouth and 
chin, and most luxuriant dark hair; then others, 
still older, in every variety of dress, — even in fancy 
costume, such as the girl had worn at fair or mas- 
querade. These and others still had Mrs. Maynard 
shown them, with repressed pride and pleasure and 
with sweet acknowledgment of their enthusiastic 
praises. Alice still tarried in the East, visiting 
40 


FROM THE RANKS 


4i 


relatives whom she had not seen since her father's 
death three years earlier, and, long before she came 
to join her mother at Sibley and to enter upon the 
life she so eagerly looked forward to, “ 'way out 
in the West, you know, with officers and soldiers 
and the band, and buffalo and Indians all around 
you," there was not an officer or an officer's wife 
who had not delightedly examined that album. 
There was still another picture, but that one had 
been shown to only a chosen few just one week 
after her daughter’s arrival, and rather an absurd 
scene had occurred, in which that most estimable 
officer, Lieutenant Sloat, had figured as the hero. 
A more simple-minded, well-intentioned fellow 
than Sloat there did not live. He was so full of 
kindness and good nature and readiness to do any- 
thing for anybody that it never seemed to occur 
to him that everybody on earth was not just as 
ready to be equally accommodating. He was a 
perpetual source of delight to the colonel, and one 
of the most royal and devoted of subalterns, de- 
spite the fact that his locks were long silvered with 
the frosts of years and that he had fought through 
the war of the rebellion and risen to the rank of 
a field-officer in Maynard’s old brigade. The most 
temperate of men, ordinarily, the colonel had one 


42 


FROM THE RANKS 


anniversary he loved to celebrate, and Sloat was his 
stand-by when the 3d of July came round, just 
as he had been at his shoulder at that supreme mo- 
ment when, heedless of the fearful sweep of shell 
and canister through their shattered ranks, Pick- 
ett’s heroic Virginians breasted the slope of Ceme- 
tery Hill and surged over the low stone wall into 
Cushing’s guns. Hard, stubborn fighting had 
Maynard’s men to do that day, and for serene cour- 
age and determination no man had beaten Sloat. 
Both officers had bullet-hole mementos to carry 
from that field; both had won their brevets for 
conspicuous gallantry, and Sloat was a happy and 
grateful man when, years afterwards, his old com- 
mander secured him a lieutenancy in the regular 
service. He was the colonel’s henchman, although 
he never had brains enough to win a place on the 
regimental staff, and when Mrs. Maynard came 
he overwhelmed her with cumbrous compliments 
and incessant calls. He was, to his confident be- 
lief, her chosen and accepted knight for full two 
days after her arrival. Then Jerrold came back 
from a brief absence, and, as in duty bound, went 
to pay his respects to his colonel’s wife; and that 
night there had been a singular scene. Mrs. May-' 
nard had stopped suddenly in her laughing chat 


FROM THE RANKS 


43 


with two ladies, had started from her seat, wildly 
staring at the tall, slender subaltern who entered 
the gateway, and then fell back in her chair, fairly 
swooning as he made his bow. 

Sloat had rushed into the house to call the colonel 
and get some water, while Mr. Jerrold stood para- 
lyzed at so strange a reception of his first call. Mrs. 
Maynard revived presently, explained that it was 
her heart, or the heat, or something, and the ladies 
on their way home decided that it was possibly the 
heart, it was certainly not the heat, it was unques- 
tionably something, and that something was Mr. 
Jerrold, for she never took her eyes off him 
during the entire evening, and seemed unable to 
shake off the fascination. Next day Jerrold dined 
there, and from that time on he was a daily visitor. 
Every one noted Mrs. Maynard’s strong interest in 
him, but no one could account for it. She was 
old enough to be his mother, said the garrison ; but 
not until Alice Renwick came did another con- 
sideration appear : he was singularly like the 
daughter. Both were tall, lithe, slender; both had 
dark, lustrous eyes, dark, though almost perfect, 
skin, exquisitely-chiselled features, and slender, 
shapely hands and feet. Alice was “ the picture 
of her father,” said Mrs. Maynard, and Mr. 


44 


FROM THE RANKS 


Renwick had lived all his life in New York; 
while Mr. Jerrold was of an old Southern family, 
and his mother a Cuban beauty who was the toast 
of the New Orleans clubs not many years before 
the war. 

Poor Sloat! He did not fancy Jerrold, and was 
as jealous as so unselfish a mortal could be of the 
immediate ascendency the young fellow established 
in the colonel’s household. It was bad enough be- 
fore Alice joined them; after that it was wellnigh 
unbearable. Then came the 3d-of-July dinner and 
the colonel’s one annual jollification. No man ever 
heard of Sloat’s being intoxicated ; he rarely drank 
at all; but this evening the reminiscences of the 
day, the generous wine, the unaccustomed elegance 
of all his surroundings, due to Mrs. Maynard’s 
taste and supervision, and the influence of Alice 
Renwick’s exquisite beauty, had fairly carried him 
away. 

They were chatting in the parlor, while Miss 
Renwick was entertaining some young-lady friends 
from town and listening to the band on the parade. 
Sloat was expatiating on her grace and beauty and 
going over the album for the twentieth time, when 
the colonel, with a twinkling eye, remarked to Mrs. 
Maynard, — * 


FROM THE RANKS 


45 

“ I think you ought to show Major* Sloat the 
‘ Directoire , picture, my dear.” 

“ Alice would never forgive me,” said madame, 
laughing ; “ though I consider it the most beautiful 
we have of her.” 

“ Oh, where is it ?” “ Oh, do let us see it, Mrs. 
Maynard!” was the chorus of exclamations from 
the few ladies present. “ Oh, I insist on seeing it, 
madame,” was Sloans characteristic contribution to 
the clamor. 

“ I want you to understand it,” said Mrs. May- 
nard, pleased, but still hesitating. “ We are very 
daft about Alice at home, you know, and it’s quite 
a wonder she has not been utterly spoiled by her 
aunts and uncles ; but this picture was a specialty. 
An artist friend of ours fairly made us have it 
taken in the wedding-dress worn by her grand- 
mother. You know the Josephine Beauharnais 
‘ Directoire’ style that was worn in seventeen 
ninety-something. Her neck and shoulders are 
lovely, and that was why we consented. I went, 


* By act of Congress, officers may be addressed by the 
title of the highest rank held by them in the volunteer service 
during the war. The colonel always punctiliously so addressed 
his friend and subordinate, although in the army his grade was 
simply that of first lieutenant. 


46 


FROM THE RANKS 


and so did the artist, and we posed her, and the 
photograph is simply perfect of her face, and neck 
too, but when Alice saw it she blushed furiously 
and forbade my having them finished. After- 
wards, though, she yielded when her aunt Kate 
and I begged so hard and promised that none 
should be given away, and so just half a dozen 
were finished. Indeed, the dress is by no means 
as decollete as many girls wear theirs at dinner 
now in New York; but poor Alice was scandalized 
when she saw it last month, and she never would 
let me put one in the album.” 

“ Oh, do go and get it, Mrs. Maynard !” pleaded 
the ladies. “ Oh, please let me see it, Mrs. May- 
nard!” added Sloat; and at last the mother-pride 
prevailed. Mrs. Maynard rustled up-stairs, and 
presently returned holding in her hands a delicate 
silver frame in filigree-work, a quaint foreign 
affair, and enclosed therein was a cabinet photo- 
graph en vignette , — the head, neck, and shoulders 
of a beautiful girl; and the dainty, diminutive, 
what-there-was-of-it waist of the old-fashioned 
gown, sashed almost immediately under the ex- 
quisite bust, revealed quite materially the cause of 
Alice Renwick’s blushes. But a more beautiful 
portrait was never photographed. The women 


FROM THE RANKS 


47 


fairly gasped with delight and envy. Sloat could 
not restrain his impatience to get it in his own 
hands, and finally he grasped it and then eyed it in 
rapture. It was two minutes before he spoke a 
word, while the colonel sat laughing at his worship- 
ping gaze. Mrs. Maynard somewhat uneasily 
stretched forth her hand, and the other ladies im- 
patiently strove to regain possession. 

“ Come, Major Sloat, you’ve surely had it long 
enough. We want it again.” 

“ Never !” said Sloat, with melodramatic inten- 
sity. “ Never ! This is my ideal of perfection, — of 
divinity in woman. I will bear it home with me, set 
it above my fireside, and adore it day and night.” 

“ Nonsense, Major Sloat!” said Mrs. Maynard, 
laughing, yet far from being at her ease. “ Come, 
I must take it back. Alice may be in any minute 
now, and if she knew I had betrayed her she would 
never forgive me. Come, surrender!” And she 
strove to take it from him. 

But Sloat was in one of his utterly asinine 
moods. He would have been perfectly willing to 
give any sum he possessed for so perfect a picture 
as this. He never dreamed that there were good 
and sufficient reasons why no man should have it. 
He so loved and honored his colonel that he was 


48 


FROM THE RANKS 


ready to lay down his life for any of his household. 
In laying claim to this picture he honestly believed 
that it was the highest proof he could give of his 
admiration and devotion. A tame surrender now 
meant that his protestations were empty words. 
“ Therefore,” argued Sloat, “ I must stand firm.” 

“ Madame,” said he, “ I’d die first.” And with 
that he began backing to the door. 

Alarmed now, Mrs. Maynard sprang after him, 
and the little major leaped upon a chair, his face 
aglow, jolly, rubicund, beaming with bliss and 
triumph. She looked up, almost wringing her 
hands, and turned half appealingly to the colonel, 
who was laughing heartily on the sofa, never 
dreaming Sloat could be in earnest. 

“ Here, I’ll give you back the frame : I don’t 
want that,” said Sloat, and began fumbling at the 
back of the photograph. This was too much for 
the ladies. They, too, rushed to the rescue. One 
of them sprang to and shut the door, the other 
seized and violently shook the back of his chair, 
and Sloat leaped to the floor, still clinging to his 
prize, and laughing as though he had never had so 
much entertainment in his life. The long Venetian 
windows opened upon the piazza, and towards the 
nearest one he retreated, holding aloft the precious 


FROM THE RANKS 


49 


gage and waving off the attacking party with the 
other hand. He was within a yard of the blinds, 
when they were suddenly thrown open, a tall, slen- 
der form stepped quickly in, one hand seized the 
uplifted wrist, the other the picture, and in far less 
time than it takes to tell it Mr. Jerrold had 
wrenched it away and, with quiet bow, restored it 
to its rightful owner. 

“ Oh, I say, now, Jerrold, that’s downright un- 
handsome of you !” gasped Sloat. “ I’d have been 
on my way home with it.” 

“ Shut up, you fool !” was the sharp, hissing 
whisper. “ Wait till I go home, if you want to talk 
about it.” And, as quickly as he came, Mr. Jerrold 
slipped out again upon the piazza. 

Of course the story was told with varied com- 
ment all over the post. Several officers were inju- 
dicious enough to chaff the old subaltern about it, 
and — he was a little sore-headed the next day, any- 
way — the usually placid Sloat grew the more in- 
dignant at Jerrold. He decided to go and upbraid 
him ; and, as ill luck would have it, they met before 
noon on the steps of the club-room. 

“ I want to say to you, Mr. Jerrold, that from an 
officer of your age to one of mine I think your con- 
duct last night a piece of impertinence.” 

4 


50 


FROM THE RANKS 


“ I had a perfect right to do what I did,” replied 
Jerrold, coolly. “ You were taking a most unwar- 
rantable liberty in trying to carry off that picture.” 

“ How did you know what it was? You had 
never seen it !” 

“ There's where you are mistaken, Mr. Sloat” 
(and Jerrold purposely and exasperatingly refused 
to recognize the customary brevet) : “ I had seen 
it, — frequently.” 

Two officers were standing by, and one of them 
turned sharply and faced Jerrold as he spoke. It 
was his former company commander. Jerrold 
noted the symptom, and flushed, but set his teeth 
doggedly. 

“ Why, Mr. Jerrold ! Mrs. Maynard said she 
never showed that to any one,” said Sloat, in much 
surprise. “ You heard her, did you not, Captain 
Chester?” 

“ I did, certainly,” was the reply. 

“All the same, I repeat what I've said,” was 
Jerrold’s sullen answer. “ I have seen it fre- 
quently, and, what’s more ” He suddenly 

stopped. 

“Well, what’s more?” said Sloat, suggestively. 

“ Never mind. I don’t care to talk of the mat- 
ter,” replied Jerrold, and started to walk away. 


FROM THE RANKS 


5i 

But Sloat was angry, nettled, jealous. He had 
meant to show his intense loyalty and admiration 
for everything that was his colonel’s, and had been 
snubbed and called a fool by an officer many years, 
though not so many “ files,” his junior. He never 
had liked him, and now there was an air of con- 
scious superiority about Jerrold that fairly exas- 
perated him. He angrily followed and called to 
him to stop, but Jerrold walked on. Captain Ches- 
ter stood still and watched them. The little man 
had almost to run before he overtook the tall one. 
They were out of earshot when he finally did so. 
There were a few words on both sides. Then Jer- 
rold shifted his light cane into his left hand, and 
Chester started forward, half expecting a fracas. 
To his astonishment, the two officers shook hands 
and parted. 

“ Well,” said he, as Sloat came back with an 
angry yet bewildered face, “ I’m glad you shook 
hands. I almost feared a row, and was just going 
to stop it. So he apologized, did he?” 

“ No, nothing like it.” 

“ Then what did you mean by shaking hands ?” 

“ That’s nothing — never you mind,” said Sloat, 
confusedly. “ I haven’t forgiven him, by a good 
deal. The man’s conceit is enough to disgust 


52 


FROM THE RANKS 


anything — but a woman, I suppose,” he finished, 
ruefully. 

“ Well, it’s none of my business, Sloat, but par- 
don my saying I don’t see what there was to bring 
about the apparent reconciliation. That hand- 
shake meant something.” 

“ Oh, well — damn it ! we had some words, and 

he — or I Well, there’s a bet, and we shook 

hands on it.” 

“ Seems to me that’s pretty serious business, 
Sloat, — a bet following such a talk as you two have 
had. I hope ” 

“ Well, captain,” interrupted Sloat, “ I certainly 
wouldn’t have done it if I hadn’t been as mad 
as blazes; but I made it, and must stick to it, — 
that’s all.” 

“ You wouldn’t mind telling me what it was, I 
suppose ?” 

“ I can’t; and that ends it.” 

Captain Chester found food for much thought 
and speculation over this incident. So far as he 
was concerned, the abrupt remark of Sloat by no 
means ended it In his distrust of Jerrold, he too 
had taken alarm at the very substantial intimacy 
to which that young man was welcomed at the colo- 
nel’s quarters. Prior to his marriage old Maynard 


FROM THE RANKS 


53 


had not liked him at all, but it was mainly because 
he had been so negligent of his duties and so de - 
termined a beau in city society after his arrival at 
Sibley. He had, indeed, threatened to have him 
transferred to a company still on frontier service 
if he did not reform; but then the rifle-practice 
season began, and Jerrold was a capital shot and 
sure to be on the list of competitors for the Depart- 
ment team, so what was the use? He would be 
ordered in for the rifle-camp anyway, and so the 
colonel decided to keep him at head-quarters. This 
was in the summer of the year gone by. Then 
came the colonel’s long leave, his visit to Europe, 
his meeting with his old friend, now the widow of 
the lamented Renwick, their delightful winter to- 
gether in Italy, his courtship, her consent, their 
marriage and return to America. When Maynard 
came back to Sibley and the old regiment, he was 
so jolly and content that every man was welcomed 
at his house, and it was really a source of pride and 
pleasure to him that his accomplished wife should 
find any of his young officers so thoroughly agree- 
able as she pronounced Mr. Jerrold. Others were 
soldierly, courteous, well bred, but he had the air 
of a foreign court about him, she privately in- 
formed her lord ; and it seems, indeed, that in days 


54 


FROM THE RANKS 


gone by Mr. Jerrold’s father had spent many years 
in France and Spain, once as his country's repre- 
sentative near the throne. Though the father died 
long before the boy was out of his knickerbockers, 
he had left the impress of his grand manner, and 
Jerrold, to women of any age, was at once a cour- 
tier and a knight. But the colonel never saw how 
her eyes followed the tall young officer time and 
again. There were women who soon noted it, and 
one of them said it was such a yearning, longing 
look. Was Mrs. Maynard really happy? they 
asked each other. Bid she really want to see Alice 
mate with him, the handsome, the dangerous, the 
selfish fellow they knew him to be? If not, could 
anything be more imprudent than that they should 
be thrown together as they were being, day after 
day? Had Alice wealth of her own? If not, did 
the mother know that nothing would tempt How- 
ard Jerrold into an alliance with a dowerless 
daughter ? These, and many more, were questions 
that came up every day. The garrison could talk 
of little else; and Alice Renwick had been there 
just three weeks, and was the acknowledged Queen 
of Hearts at Sibley, when the rifle-competitions 
began again, and a great array of officers and men 
from all over the Northwest came to the post by 


FROM THE RANKS 


55 

every train, and their canvas tents dotted the broad 
prairie to the north. 

One lovely evening in August, just before the 
practice began, Colonel Maynard took his wife to 
drive out and see the camp. Mr. Jerrold and Alice 
Renwick followed on horseback. The carriage was 
surrounded as it halted near the range, and half a 
score of officers, old and young, were chatting 
with Mrs. Maynard, while others gathered about 
the lovely girl who sat there in the saddle. There 
came marching up from the railway a small squad 
of soldiers, competitors arriving from the far West. 
Among them — apparently their senior non-com- 
missioned officer — was a tall cavalry sergeant, 
superbly built, and with a bronzed and bearded and 
swarthy face that seemed to tell of years of cam- 
paigning over mountain and prairie. They were 
all men of perfect physique, all in the neat, soldierly 
fatigue-dress of the regular service, some wearing 
the spotless white stripes of the infantry, others the 
less artistic and equally destructible yellow of the 
cavalry. Their swinging stride, erect carriage, and 
clear, handsome eyes all spoke of the perfection of 
health and soldierly development. Curious glances 
were turned to them as they advanced, and Miss 
Renwick, catching sight of the party, exclaimed, — 


FROM THE RANKS 


56 

f “ Oh, who are these ? And what a tall soldier 
that sergeant is !” 

“ That sergeant, Miss Renwick,” said a slow, 
deliberate voice, “ is the man I believe will knock 
Mr. Jerrold out of the first prize. That is Sergeant 
McLeod.” 

As though he heard his name pronounced, the 
tall cavalryman glanced for the first time at the 
group, brought his rifle to the carry as if about to 
salute, and was just stepping upon the roadside, 
where he came in full view of the occupants of the 
carriage, when a sudden pallor shot across his face, 
and he plunged heavily forward and went down 
like a shot. Sympathetic officers and comrades 
surrounded the prostrate form in an instant. The 
colonel himself sprang from his carriage and joined 
the group; a blanket was quickly brought from a 
neighboring tent, and the sergeant was borne 
thither and laid upon a cot. A surgeon felt his 
pulse and looked inquiringly around : 

“ Any of you cavalrymen know him well ? Has 
he been affected this way before?” 

A young corporal who had been bending 
anxiously over the sergeant straightened up and 
saluted : 

“ I know him well, sir, and have been with him 


FROM THE RANKS 


57 


five years. He’s only had one sick spell in all that 
time, — ’twas just like this, — and then he told me 
he’d been sunstruck once.” 

“ This is no case of sunstroke,” said the doctor. 
“ It looks more like the heart. How long ago was 
the attack you speak of?” 

“ Three years ago last April, sir. I remember 
it because we’d just got into Fort Raines after a 
long scout. He’d been the solidest man in the 
troop all through the cold and storm and snow we 
had in the mountains, and we were in the reading- 
room, and he’d picked up a newspaper and was 
reading while the rest of us were talking and laugh- 
ing, and, first thing we knew, he was down on the 
floor, just like he was to-night.” 

“ Hm !” said the surgeon. “ Yes. That’s 
plenty, steward. Give him that. Raise his head a 
little, corporal. Now he’ll come round all right.” 

Driving homeward that night, Colonel Maynard 
musingly remarked, — 

“ Did you see that splendid fellow who fainted 
away ?” 

“No,” answered his wife, “you all gathered 
about him so quickly and carried him away. I 
could not even catch a glimpse of him. But he 
had recovered, had he not?” 


58 


FROM THE RANKS 


“ Yes. Still, I was thinking what a singular fact 
it is that occasionally a man slips through the sur- 
geon’s examinations with such a malady as this. 
Now, here is one of the finest athletes and shots in 
the whole army, a man who has been through some 
hard service and stirring fights, has won a tip-top 
name for himself and was on the highroad to a 
commission, and yet this will block him effectu- 
ally. ,, 

“ Why, what is the trouble ?” 

“ Some affection of the heart. Why ! Halloo ! 
Stop, driver. Orderly, jump down and run back 
there. Mrs. Maynard has dropped her fan. — What 
was it, dear?” he asked, anxiously. “ You started; 
and you are white, and trembling.” 

“ I — I don’t know, colonel. Let us go home. It 
will be over in a minute. Where are Alice and Mr. 
Jerrold? Call them, please. She must not be out 
riding after dark.” 

But they were not in sight ; and it was consider- 
ably after dark when they reached the fort. Mr. 
Jerrold explained that his horse had picked up a 
stone and he had had to walk him all the way. 


CHAPTER IV. 

There was no sleep for Captain Chester the rest 
of the night. He went home, threw off his sword- 
belt, and seated himself in a big easy-chair before 
his fireplace, deep in thought. Once or twice he 
arose and paced restlessly up and down the room, 
as he had done in his excited talk with Rollins some 
few hours before. Then he was simply angry and 
argumentative, — or declamatory. Now he had 
settled down into a very different frame of mind. 
He seemed awed, — stunned, — crushed. He had all 
the bearing and mien of one who, having defiantly 
predicted a calamity, was thunderstruck by the 
verification of his prophecy. In all his determined 
arraignment of Mr. Jerrold, in all the harsh things 
he had said and thought of him, he had never im- 
agined any such depth of scoundrelism as the reve- 
lations of the night foreshadowed. Chester dif- 
fered from many of his brotherhood : there was no 
room for rejoicing in his heart that the worst he 
had ever said of Jerrold was unequal to the ap- 
parent truth. He took no comfort to his soul that 
those who called him cynical, crabbed, unjust, even 

59 


6o 


FROM THE RANKS 


malicious, would now be compelled to admit he was 
right in his estimate. Like the best of us, Chester 
could not ordinarily say “ Vade retro ” to the temp- 
tation to think, if not to say, “ Didn’t I tell you so?” 
when in every-day affairs his oft-disputed views 
were proved well founded. But in the face of 
such a catastrophe as now appeared engulfing the 
fair fame of his regiment and the honor of those 
whom his colonel held dear, Chester could feel only 
dismay and grief. What was his duty in the light 
of the discoveries he had made? To the best of 
his belief, he was the only man in the garrison who 
had evidence of Jerrold’s absence from his own 
quarters and of the presence of some one at her 
window. He had taken prompt measures to pre- 
vent its being suspected by others. He purposely 
sent his guards to search along the cliff in the oppo- 
site direction while he went to Jerrold’s room and 
thence back to remove the tell-tale ladder. Should 
he tell any one until he had confronted Jerrold with 
the evidences of his guilt, and, wringing from him 
his resignation, send him far from the post before 
handing it in? Time and again he wished Frank 
Armitage were here. The youngest captain in the 
regiment, Armitage had been for years its adjutant 
and deep in the confidence of Colonel Maynard. 


FROM THE RANKS 


61 


He was a thorough soldier, a strong, self-reliant, 
courageous man, and one for whom Chester had 
ever felt a warm esteem. Armitage was on leave 
of absence, however, — had been away some time on 
account of family matters, and would not return, 
it was known, until he had effected the removal of 
his mother and sister to the new home he had pur- 
chased for them in the distant East. It was to his 
company that Jerrold had been promoted, and there 
was friction from the very week that the hand- 
some subaltern joined. 

Armitage had long before “ taken his measure,” 
and was in no wise pleased that so lukewarm a 
soldier should have come to him as senior subal- 
tern. They had a very plain talk, for Armitage 
was straight-forward as a dart, and then, as Jer- 
rold showed occasional lapses, the captain shut 
down on some of his most cherished privileges, and, 
to the indignation of society, the failure of Mr. Jer- 
rold to appear at one or two gatherings where he 
was confidently expected was speedily laid at his 
captain’s door. The recent death of his father kept 
Armitage from appearing in public, and, as neither 
he nor the major (who commanded the regiment 
while Maynard was abroad) vouchsafed the faint- 
est explanation, society was allowed to form its 


62 


FROM THE RANKS 


own conclusions, and did , — to the effect that Mr. 
Jerrold was a wronged and persecuted man. It 
was just as the Maynards arrived at Sibley that 
Armitage departed on his leave, and, to his un- 
speakable bliss, Mr. Jerrold succeeded to the 
command of his company. This fact, coupled 
with the charming relations which were straight- 
way established with the colonel’s family, placed 
him in a position of independence and gave him 
opportunities he had never known before. It 
was speedily evident that he was neglecting his 
military duties, — that Company B was running 
down much faster than Armitage had built it up, — * 
and yet no man felt like speaking of it to the colo- 
nel, who saw it only occasionally on dress-parade. 
Chester had just about determined to write to Ar- 
mitage himself and suggest his speedy return, when 
this eventful night arrived. Now he fully made up 
his mind that it must be done at once, and had 
seated himself at his desk, when the roar of the 
sunrise gun and the blare of the bugles warned 
him that reveille had come and he must again 
go to his guard. Before he returned to his quar- 
ters another complication, even more embarras- 
sing, had arisen, and the letter to Armitage was 
postponed. 


FROM THE RANKS 


63 


He had received the “ present” of his guard and 
verified the presence of all his prisoners, when he 
saw Major Sloat still standing out in the middle of 
the parade, where the adjutant usually received the 
reports of the roll-calls. Several company officers, 
having made their reports, were scurrying back to 
quarters for another snooze before breakfast-time 
or to get their cup of coffee before going out to the 
range. Chester strolled over towards him. 

“ What’s the matter, Sloat ?” 

“ Nothing much. The colonel told me to receive 
the reveille reports for Hoyt this week. He’s on 
general court-martial.” 

“ Yes, I know all that. I mean, what are you 
waiting for?” 

“ Mr. Jerrold again. There’s no report from his 
company.” 

“ Have you sent to wake him ?” 

“ No ; I’ll go myself, and do it thoroughly, too.” 
And the little major turned sharply away and 
walked direct to the low range of bachelor quar- 
ters, dove under the piazza, and into the green 
doorway. 

Hardly knowing how to explain his action, Ches- 
ter quickly followed, and in less than a minute was 
standing in the self-same parlor which, by the light 


6 4 


FROM THE RANKS 


of a flickering match, he had searched two hours 
before. Here he halted and listened, while Sloat 
pushed on into the bedroom and was heard ve- 
hemently apostrophizing some sleeper : 

“ Does the government pay you for this sort of 
thing, I want to know? Get up, Jerrold! This is 
the second time you've cut reveille in ten days. 
Get up, I say!" And the major was vigorously 
shaking at something, for the bed creaked and 
groaned. 

“ Wake up ! I say, I'm blowed if I'm going to 
get up here day after day and have you sleeping. 
iWake, Nicodemus! Wake, you snoozing, snoring, 
open-mouthed masher. Come, now ; I mean it." 

A drowsy, disgusted yawn and stretch finally re- 
warded his efforts. Mr. Jerrold at last opened his 
eyes, rolled over, yawned sulkily again, and tried to 
evade his persecutor, but to no purpose. Like a 
little terrier, Sloat hung on to him and worried and 
shook. 

“ Oh, don't ! damn it, don't !" growled the vic- 
tim. “ What do you want, anyway ? Has that in- 
fernal reveille gone?" 

“ Yes, and you're absent again, and no report 
from B Company. By the holy poker, if you don't 
turn out and get it and report to me on the parade 


FROM THE RANKS 


65 

I’ll spot the whole gang absent, and then no matinee 
for you to-day, my buck. Come, out with you ! I 
mean it. Hall says you and he have an engage- 
ment in town ; and ’pon my soul I’ll bust it if you 
don’t come out.” 

And so, growling and complaining, and yet half 
laughing, Adonis rolled from his couch and began 
to get into his clothes. Chester’s blood ran cold, 
then boiled. Think of a man who could laugh like 
that, — and remember! When, how, had he re- 
turned to the house ? Listen ! 

“ Confound you, Sloat, I wouldn’t rout you out 
in this shabby way. Why couldn’t you let a man 
sleep? I’m tired half to death.” 

“ What have you done to tire you ? Slept all 
yesterday afternoon, and danced perhaps a dozen 
times at the doctor’s last night. You’ve had more 
sleep than I’ve had, begad! You took Miss Ren- 
wick home before ’twas over, and mean it was of 
you, too, with all the fellows that wanted to dance 
with her.” 

“ That wasn’t my fault : Mrs. Maynard made 
her promise to be home at twelve. You old cackler, 
that’s what sticks in your crop yet. You are per- 
secuting me because they like me so much better 
than they do you,” he went on, laughingly now. 

5 


66 


FROM THE RANKS 


“ Come, now, Sloat, confess, it is all because you're 
jealous. You couldn’t have that picture and I 
could.” 

Chester fairly started. He had urgent need to 
see this young gallant, — he was staying for that 
purpose, — but should he listen to further talk like 
this? Too late to move, for Sloat’s answer came 
like a shot : 

“ I bet you you never could !” 

“ But didn’t I tell you I had ? — a week ago ?” 

“ Ay, but I didn’t believe it. You couldn’t show 
it!” 

“ Pshaw, man ! Look here. Stop, though ! Re- 
member, on your honor, you never tell.” 

“ On my honor, of course.” 

“ Well, there!” 

A drawer was opened. Chester heard a gulp of 
dismay, of genuine astonishment and conviction 
mixed, as Sloat muttered some half-articulate 
words and then came into the front room. Jerrold 
followed, caught sight of Chester, and stopped 
short, with sudden and angry change of color. 

“ I did not know you were here,” he said. 

“ It was to find where you were that I came,” 
was the quiet answer. 

There was a moment’s silence. Sloat turned and 


FROM THE RANKS 67 

looked at the two men in utter surprise. Up to this 
time he had considered Jerrold’s absence from 
reveille as a mere dereliction of duty which was 
ascribable to the laziness and indifference of the 
young officer. So far as lay in his power, he meant 
to make him attend more strictly to business, and 
had therefore come to his quarters and stirred him 
up. But there was no thought of any serious 
trouble in his mind. His talk had all been roughly 
good-humored until — until that bet was mentioned, 
and then it became earnest. Now, as he glanced 
from one man to the other, he saw in an instant that 
something new — something of unusual gravity — 
was impending. Chester, buttoned to the throat in 
his dark uniform, accurately gloved and belted, 
with pale, set, almost haggard face, was standing 
by the centre-table under the drop-light. Jerrold, 
only half dressed, his feet thrust into slippers, his 
fingers nervously working at the studs of his dainty 
white shirt, had stopped short at his bedroom door, 
and, with features that grew paler every second and 
a dark scowl on his brow, was glowering at 
Chester. 

“ Since when has it been the duty of the officer 
of the day to come around and hunt up officers who 
don’t happen to be out at reveille?” he asked. 


68 


FROM THE RANKS 


“ It is not your absence from reveille I want ex- 
plained, Mr. Jerrold,” was the cold and deliberate 
answer. “ I wanted you at 3.30 this morning, and 
you were not and had not been here.” 

An unmistakable start and shock ; a quick, ner- 
vous, hunted glance around the room, so cold and 
pallid in the early light of the August morning ; a 
clutch of Jerrold’s slim brown hand at the bared 
throat. But he rallied gamely, strode a step for- 
ward, and looked his superior full in the face. 
Sloat marked the effort with which he cleared away 
the huskiness that seemed to clog his larynx, but 
admired the spunk with which the young officer re- 
turned the senior’s shot : 

“ What is your authority here, I would like to 
know? What business has the officer of the day 
to want me or any other man not on guard ? Cap- 
tain Chester, you seem to forget that I am no 
longer your second lieutenant, and that I am a com- 
pany commander like yourself. Do you come by 
Colonel Maynard’s order to search my quarters 
and question me? If so, say so at once; if not, get 
out.” And Jerrold’s face was growing black with 
wrath, and his big lustrous eyes were wide awake 
now and fairly snapping. 

Chester leaned upon the table and deliberated a 


FROM THE RANKS 


69 


moment. He stood there coldly, distrustfully 
eyeing the excited lieutenant, then turned to Sloat : 

“ I will be responsible for the roll-call of Com- 
pany B this morning, Sloat. I have a matter of 
grave importance to bring up to this — this gentle- 
man, and it is of a private nature. Will you let me 
see him alone ?” 

“ Sloat,” said Jerrold, “ don’t go yet. I want 
you to stay. These are my quarters, and I recogr 
nize your right to come here in search of me, since 
I was not at reveille ; but I want a witness here to 
bear me out. I’m too amazed yet — too confounded 
by this intrusion of Captain Chester’s to grasp the 
situation. I never heard of such a thing as this. 
Explain it, if you can.” 

“ Mr. Jerrold, what I have to ask or say to you 
concerns you alone. It is not an official matter. 
It is as man to man I want to see you, alone and at 
once. Now will you let Major Sloat retire ?” 

Silence for a moment. The angry flush on Jer- 
rold’s face was dying away, and in its place an 
ashen pallor was spreading from throat to brow; 
his lips were twitching ominously. Sloat looked 
in consternation at the sudden change. 

“ Shall I go ?” he finally asked. 

Jerrold looked long, fixedly, searchingly in the 


70 


FROM THE RANKS 


set face of the officer of the day, breathing hard and 
heavily. What he saw there Sloat could not im- 
agine. At last his hand dropped by his side; he 
made a little motion with it, a slight wave towards 
Jhe door, and again dropped it nervously. His 
lips seemed to frame the word “ Go,” but he never 
glanced at the man whom a moment before he so 
masterfully bade to stay; and Sloat, sorely puz- 
zled, left the room. 

Not until his footsteps had died out of hearing 
did Chester speak: 

“ How soon can you leave the post ?” 

“ I don’t understand you.” 

“ How soon can you pack up what you need to 
take and — get away ?” 

“ Get away where ? What do you mean ?” 

“ You must know what I mean! You must 
know that after last night’s work you quit the ser- 
vice at once and forever.” 

“ I don’t know anything of the kind ; and I defy 
you to prove the faintest thing.” But Jerrold’s 
fingers were twitching, and his eyes had lost their 
light. 

“ Do you suppose I did not recognize you ?” 
asked Chester. 

“ When? — where?” gulped Jerrold. 


FROM THE RANKS 


7i 


“ When I seized you and you struck me !” 

“ I never struck you. I don’t know what you 
mean.” 

“ My God, man, let us end this useless fencing. 
The evidence I have of your last night’s scoun- 
drelism would break the strongest record. For the 
regiment’s sake, — for the colonel’s sake, — let us 
have no public scandal. It’s awful enough as the 
thing stands. Write your resignation, give it to 
me, and leave, — before breakfast if you can.” 

“ I’ve done nothing to resign for. You know 
perfectly well I haven’t.” 

“ Do you mean that such a crime — that a 
woman’s ruin and disgrace — isn’t enough to drive 
you from the service?” asked Chester, tingling in 
every nerve and longing to clinch the shapely, 
swelling throat in his clutching fingers. “ God of 
heaven, Jerrold! are you dead to all sense of de- 
cency ?” 

“ Captain Chester, I won’t be bullied this way. 
I may not be immaculate, but no man on earth shall 
talk to me like this! I deny your insinuations. 
I’ve done nothing to warrant your words, even if — 
if you did come sneaking around here last night 
and find me absent. You can’t prove a thing. 
You ” 


72 


FROM THE RANKS 


“ What ! When I saw you, — almost caught you ! 
By heaven ! I wish the sentry had killed you then 
and there. I never dreamed of such hardihood.” 

“ You’ve done nothing but dream. By Jove, I 
believe you’re sleep-walking yet. What on earth 
do you mean by catching and killing me? ’Pon 
my soul I reckon you’re crazy, Captain Chester.” 
And color was gradually coming back again to 
Jerrold’s face, and confidence to his tone. 

“ Enough of this, Mr. Jerrold. Knowing what 
you and I both know, do you refuse to hand me 
your resignation ?” 

“ Of course I do.” 

“ Do you mean to deny to me where I saw you 
last night ?” 

“ I deny your right to question me. I deny any- 
thing, — everything. I believe you simply thought 
you had a clue and could make me tell. Suppose 
I was out last night. I don’t believe you know the 
faintest thing about it.” 

“ Do you want me to report the whole thing to 
the colonel ?” 

“ Of course I don’t. Naturally, I want him to 
know nothing about my being out of quarters ; and 
it’s a thing that no officer would think of reporting 
another for. You’ll only win the contempt of 


FROM THE RANKS 


73 


every gentleman in the regiment if you do it. 
.What good will it do you? — Keep me from going 
to town for a few days, I suppose. What earthly 
business is it of yours, anyway ?” 

u Jerrold, I can stand this no longer. I ought to 
shoot you in your tracks, I believe. You’ve 
brought ruin and misery to the home of my 
warmest friend, and dishonor to the whole service, 
and you talk of two or three days’ stoppage from 
going to town. If I can’t bring you to your senses, 
by God! the colonel shall.” And he wheeled and 
left the room. 

For a moment Jerrold stood stunned and silent. 
It was useless to attempt reply. The captain was 
far down the walk when he sprang to the door to 
call him again. Then, hurrying back to the bed- 
room, he hastily dressed, muttering angrily and 
anxiously to himself as he did so. He was think- 
ing deeply, too, and every movement betrayed ner- 
vousness and trouble. Returning to the front door, 
he gazed out upon the parade, then took his forage- 
cap and walked rapidly down towards the adju- 
tant’s office. The orderly bugler was tilted up in a 
chair, leaning half asleep against the whitewashed 
front, but his was a weasel nap, for he sprang up 
and saluted as the young officer approached. 


74 


FROM THE RANKS 


“ Where did Major Sloat go, orderly?” was the 
hurried question. 

“ Over towards the stables, sir. Him and Cap- 
tain Chester was here together, and they're just 
gone.” 

“ Run over to the quarters of B Company and 
tell Merrick I want him right away. Tell him to 
come to my quarters.” And thither Mr. Jerrold 
returned, seated himself at his desk, wrote several 
lines of a note, tore it into fragments, began again, 
wrote another which seemed not entirely satisfac- 
tory, and was in the midst of a third when there 
came a quick step and a knock at the door. Open- 
ing the shutters, he glanced out of the window. A 
gust of wind sent some of the papers whirling and 
flying, and the bedroom door banged shut, but not 
before some few half-sheets of paper had fluttered 
out upon the parade, where other little flurries of 
the morning breeze sent them sailing over towards 
the colonel's quarters. Anxious only for the 
coming of Merrick and no one else, Mr. Jerrold no 
sooner saw who was at the front door than he 
closed the shutters, called, “ Come in !” and a short, 
squat, wiry little man, dressed in the fatigue-uni- 
form of the infantry, stood at the door-way to the 
hall. 


FROM THE RANKS 


75 

“ Come in here, Merrick/’ said the lieutenant, 
and Merrick came. 

“ How much is it you owe me now? — thirty-odd 
dollars, I think?” 

“ I believe it is, lieutenant,” answered the man,' 
With shifting eyes and general uneasiness of mien. 

“ You are not ready to pay it, I suppose; and 
you got it from me when we left Fort Raines, to 
help you out of that scrape there.” 

The soldier looked down and made no answer. 

“ Merrick, I want a note taken to town at once. 
I want you to take it and get it to its address before 
eight o’clock. I want you to say no word to a soul. 
Here’s ten dollars. Hire old Murphy’s horse across 
the river and go. If you are put in the guard- 
house when you get back, don’t say a word ; if you 
are tried by garrison court for crossing the bridge 
or absence without leave, plead guilty, make no 
defence, and I’ll pay you double your fine and let 
you off the thirty dollars. But if you fail me, or tell 
a soul of your errand, I’ll write to — you know who, 
at Raines. Do you understand, and agree?” 

“ I do. Yessir.” 

“ Go and get ready, and be here in ten minutes.” 

Meantime, Captain Chester had followed Sloat 
to the adjutant’s office. He was boiling over with 


76 


FROM THE RANKS 


indignation which he hardly knew how to control. 
He found the gray-moustached subaltern tramping 
in great perplexity up and down the room, and the 
instan he entered was greeted with the inquiry, — * 

“What’s gone wrong? What’s Jerrold been 
doing?” 

“ Don’t ask me any questions, Sloat, but answer. 
It is a matter of honor. What was your bet with 
Jerrold?” 

“ I oughtn’t to tell that, Chester. Surely it can- 
not be a matter mixed up with this.” 

“ I can’t explain, Sloat. What I ask is unavoid- 
able. Tell me about that bet.” 

“ Why, he was so superior and airy, you know, 
and was trying to make me feel that he was so 
much more intimate with them all at the colonel’s, 
and that he could have that picture for the mere 
asking; and I got mad, and bet him he never 
could.” 

“ Was that the day you shook hands on it?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ And that was her picture — the picture, then — 
he showed you this morning.” 

“ Chester, you heard the conversation : you were 
there : you know that I’m on honor not to tell.” 

“ Yes, I know. That’s quite enough.” 


CHAPTER V 


Before seven o’clock that same morning Cap- 
tain Chester had come to the conclusion that only 
one course was left open for him. After the brief 
talk with Sloat at the office he had increased the 
perplexity and distress of that easily-muddled sol- 
dier by requesting his company in a brief visit to 
the stables and corrals. A “ square” and reliable 
old veteran was the quartermaster sergeant who 
had charge of those establishments; Chester had 
known him for years, and his fidelity and honesty 
were matters the officers of his former regiment 
could not too highly commend. When Sergeant 
Parks made an official statement there was no 
shaking its solidity. He slept in a little box of a 
house close by the entrance to the main stable, in 
which were kept the private horses of several of 
the officers, and among them Mr. Jerrold’s ; and it 
was his boast that, day or night, no horse left that 
stable without his knowledge. The old man was 
superintending the morning labors of the stable- 
hands, and looked up in surprise at so early a visit 
from the officer of the day. 


77 


78 


FROM THE RANKS 


“Were you here all last night, sergeant?” was 
Chester’s abrupt question. 

“ Certainly, sir, and up until one o’clock or 
more.” 

“ Were any horses out during the night, — any 
officers’ horses, I mean?” 

“ No, sir, not one.” 

“ I thought possibly some officers might have 
driven or ridden to town.” 

“ No, sir. The only horses that crossed this 
threshold going out last night were Mr. Sutton’s 
team from town. They were put up here until near 
one o’clock, and then the doctor sent over for them. 
I locked up right after that, and can swear nothing 
else went out.” 

Chester entered the stable and looked curiously 
around. Presently his eye lighted on a tall, rangy 
bay horse that was being groomed in a wide stall 
near the door-way. 

“ That’s Mr. Jerrold’s Roderick, isn’t it?” 

“ Yes, sir. He’s fresh as a daisy, too, — hasn’t 
been out for three days, — and Mr. Jerrold’s going 
to drive the dog-cart this morning.” 

Chester turned away. 

" Sloat,” said he, as they left the stable, “ if Mr. 
[Jerrold was away from the post last night, — and 


79 


FROM THE RANKS 

\ 

you heard me say he was out of his quarters, — 
could he have gone any way except afoot, after 
what you heard Parks say?” 

“ Gone in the Suttons' outfit, I suppose,” was 
Sloat's cautious answer. 

“ In which event he would have been seen by the 
Sentry at the bridge, would he not ?” 

“ Ought to have been, certainly.” 

“ Then we'll go back to the guard-house.” And, 
wonderingly and uncomfortably, Sloat followed. 
He had long since begun to wish he had held his 
peace and said nothing about the confounded roll- 
call. He hated rows of any kind. He didn't like 
Jerrold, but he would have crawled ventre a terre 
across the wide parade sooner than see a scandal 
in the regiment he loved ; and it was becoming ap- 
parent to his sluggish faculties that it was no mere 
matter of absence from quarters that was involving 
Jerrold. Chester was all aflame over that picture- 
business, he remembered, and the whole drift of his 
present investigation was to prove that Jerrold was 
not absent from the post, but absent only from his 
quarters. If so, where had he spent his time until 
nearly four? Sloat's heart was heavy with vague 
apprehension. He knew that Jerrold had borne 
Alice Renwick away from the party at an unusually 


8o 


FROM THE RANKS 


early hour for such things to break up. He knew 
that he and others had protested against such de- 
sertion, but she declared it could not be helped. 
He remembered another thing, — a matter that he 
thought of at the time, only from another point of 
view. It now seemed to have significance bearing 
on this very matter ; for Chester suddenly asked, — 

“ Wasn't it rather odd that Miss Beaubien was 
not here at the dance? She has never missed one, 
seems to me, since Jerrold began spooning with her 
last year." 

“ Why, she was here." 

“ She was ? Are you sure ? Rollins never spoke 
of it ; and we had been talking of her. I inferred 
from what he said that she was not there at all. 
And I saw her drive homeward with her mother 
right after parade : so it didn’t occur to me that she 
could have come out again, all that distance, in time 
for the dance. Singular ! Why shouldn’t Rollins 
have told me?" 

Sloat grinned : a dreary sort of smile it was, too. 
“ You go into society so seldom you don’t see these 
things. I’ve more than half suspected Rollins of 
being quite ready to admire Miss Beaubien himself ; 
and since Jerrold dropped her he has had plenty of 
.opportunity." 


FROM THE RANKS 


81 


“ Great guns ! I never thought of it ! If I'd 
known she was to be there I’d have gone myself 
last night. How did she behave to Miss Ren- 
wick ?” 

“ Why, sweet and smiling, and chipper as you 
please. If anything, I think Miss Renwick was 
cold and distant to her. I couldn’t make it out at 
all.” 

“ And did Jerrold dance with her?” 

“ Once, I think, and they had a talk out on the 
piazza, — just a minute. I happened to be at the 
door, and couldn't help seeing it ; and what got me 
was this : Mr. Hall came out with Miss Renwick 
on his arm; they were chatting and laughing as 
they passed me, but the moment she caught sight of 
Jerrold and Miss Beaubien she stopped, and said, 
* I think I won’t stay out here ; it’s too chilly,’ or 
something like it, and went right in; and then 
Jerrold dropped Miss Beaubien and went after her. 
He just handed the young lady over to me, saying 
he was engaged for next dance, and skipped.” 

“How did she like that? Wasn’t she furi- 
ous?” 

“ No. That’s another thing that got me. She 
smiled after him, all sweetness, and — well, she did 
say, ‘ I count upon you, — you’ll be there,’ and he 
6 


82 


FROM THE RANKS 


nodded. Oh, she was bright as a button after 
that.” 

“ What did she mean ? — be ‘ where/ do you sup- 
pose? Sloat, this all means more to me, and to us 
all, than I can explain.” 

“ I don’t know. I can’t imagine.” 

“ Was it to see her again that night?” 

“ I don’t know at all. If it was, he fooled her, 
for he never went near her again. Rollins put her 
in the carriage.” 

“ Whose ? Did she come out with the Sut- 
tons?” 

“ Why, certainly. I thought you knew that.” 

“ And neither old Madame Beaubien nor Mrs. 
Sutton with them ? What was the old squaw think- 
ing of?” 

By this time they had neared the guard-house, 
where several of the men were seated awaiting the 
call for the next relief. All rose at the shout of the 
sentry on Number One, turning out the guard for 
the officer of the day. Chester made hurried and 
impatient acknowledgment of the salute, and called 
to the sergeant to send him the sentry who was at 
the bridge at one o’clock. It turned out to be a 
young soldier who had enlisted at the post only six 
months before and was already known as one of the 


FROM THE RANKS 83 

most intelligent and promising candidates for a 
corporalship in the garrison. 

“ Were you on duty at the bridge at one o’clock, 
Carey ?” asked the captain. 

“I was, sir. My relief went on at 11.45 anc * 
came off at 1.45.” 

“ What persons passed your post during that 
time ?” 

“ There was a squad or two of men coming 
back from town on pass. I halted them, sir, and 
Corporal Murray came down and passed them 
in.” 

“ I don’t mean coming from town. Who went 
the other way?” 

“ Only one carriage, sir, — Mr. Sutton’s.” 

“ Could you see who were in it ?” 

“ Certainly, sir : it was right under the lamp- 
post this end of the bridge that I stood when I 
challenged. Lieutenant Rollins answered for them 
and passed them out. He was sitting beside Mr. 
Sutton as they drove up, then jumped out and gave 
me the countersign and bade them good-night right 
there.” 

“ Rollins again,” thought Chester. “ Why did 
he keep this from me ?” 

“ Who were in the carriage?” he asked. 


84 


FROM THE RANKS 


“ Mr. Sutton, sir, on the front seat, driving, and 
two young ladies on the back seat.” 

“ Nobody else?” 

“ Not a soul, sir. I could see in it plain as day. 
One lady was Miss Sutton, and the other Miss 
Beaubien. I know I was surprised at seeing the 
latter, because she drove home in her own carriage 
last evening right after parade. I was on post there 
at that hour too, sir. The second relief is on from 
545 to 7-45*” 

“ That will do, Carey. I see your relief is form- 
ing now.” 

As the officers walked away and Sloat silently 
plodded along beside his dark-browed senior, the 
latter turned to him : 

“ I should say that there was no way in which 
Mr. Jerrold could have gone townwards last night. 
Should not you?” 

“ He might have crossed the bridge while the 
third relief was on, and got a horse at the other 
side.” 

“ He didn’t do that, Sloat. I had already ques- 
tioned the sentry on that relief. It was the third 
that I inspected and visited this morning.” 

“ Well, how do you know he wanted to go to 
town? Why couldn’t he have gone up the river, 


FROM THE RANKS 85 

or out to the range? Perhaps there was a little 
game of ‘ draw’ out at camp.” 

“ There was no light in camp, much less a little 
game of draw, after eleven o'clock. You know 
well enough that there is nothing of that kind going 
on with Gaines in command. That isn’t Jerrold’s 
game, even if those fellows were bent on ruining 
their eyesight and nerve and spoiling the chance of 
getting the men on the division and army teams. I 
wish it were his game, instead of what it is !” 

“ Still, Chester, he may have been out in the 
country somewhere. You seem bent on the con- 
viction he was up to mischief here, around this 
post. I won’t ask you what you mean ; but there’s 
more than one way of getting to town if a man 
wants to very bad.” 

“ How ? Of course he can take a skiff and row 
down the river ; but he’d never be back in time for 
reveille. There goes six o’clock, and I must get 
home and shave and think this over. Keep your 
own counsel, no matter who asks you. If you hear 
any questions or talk about shooting last night, you 
know nothing, heard nothing, and saw nothing.” 

“ Shooting last night !” exclaimed Sloat, all agog 
with eagerness and excitement now. “ Where was 
it? Who was it?” 


86 


FROM THE RANKS 


But Chester turned a deaf ear upon him, and 
walked away. He wanted to see Rollins, and went 
straight home. 

“ Why didn’t you tell me Miss Beaubien was out 
here last night ?” was the question he asked as soon 
as he had entered the room where, all aglow from 
his cold bath, the youngster was dressing for break- 
fast. He colored vividly, then laughed. 

“ Well, you never gave me much chance to say 
anything, did you? You talked all the time, as I 
remember, and suddenly vanished and slammed the 
door. I would have told you had you asked me.” 
But all the same it was evident for the first time 
that here was a subject Rollins was shy of mention- 
ing. 

“ Did you go down and see them across sentry 
post ?” 

“ Certainly. Jerrold asked me to. He said he 
had to take Miss Renwick home, and was too tired 
to come back, — was going to turn in. I was glad 
to do anything to be civil to the Suttons.” 

“ Why, I’d like to know ? They have never in- 
vited you to the house or shown you any attention 
whatever. You are not their style at all, Rollins, 
and I’m glad of it. It wasn’t for their sake you 
stayed there until one o’clock instead of being in 


FROM THE RANKS 


87 


bed. I wish — ” and he looked wistfully, earn- 
estly, at his favorite now, “ I wish I could think 
it wasn’t for the sake of Miss Beaubien’s black eyes 
and aboriginal beauty.” 

“ Look here, captain,” said Rollins, with another 
rush of color to his face ; “ you don’t seem to fancy 
Miss Beaubien, and — she’s a friend of mine, and 
one I don’t like to hear slightingly spoken of. You 
said a good deal last night that — well, wasn’t 
pleasant to hear.” 

“ I know it, Rollins. I beg your pardon. I 
didn’t know then that you were more than slightly 
acquainted with her. I’m an old bat, and go out 
very little, but some things are pretty clear to my 
eyes, and — don’t you be falling in love with Nina 
[Beaubien. That is no match for you.” 

“ I’m sure you never had a word to say against 
her father. The old colonel was a perfect type of 
the French gentleman, from all I hear.” 

“ Yes, and her mother is as perfect a type of a 
Chippewa squaw, if she is only a half-breed and 
claims to be only a sixteenth. Rollins, there’s In- 
dian blood enough in Nina Beaubien’s little finger 
to make me afraid of her. She is strong as death in 
love or hate, and you must have seen how she hung 
on Jerrold’s every word all last winter. You must 


88 FROM THE RANKS 

know she is not the girl to be lightly dropped 
now.” 

“ She told me only a day or two ago they were 
the best of friends and had never been anything 
else,” said Rollins, hotly. 

4 4 Has it gone that far, my boy ? I had not 
thought it so bad, by any means. It's no use talk- 
ing with a man who has lost his heart ; his reason 
goes with it.” And Chester turned away. 

“ You don't know anything about it,” was all 
poor Rollins could think of as a suitable thing to 
shout after him; and it made no more impression 
than it deserved. 

As has been said, Captain Chester had decided 
before seven o'clock that but one course lay open 
to him in the matter as now developed. Had Armi- 
tage been there he would have had an adviser, but 
there was no other man whose counsel he cared to 
seek. Old Captain Gray was as bitter against Jer-» 
rold as Chester himself, and with even better rea- 
son, for he knew well the cause of his little daugh- 
ter's listless manner and tearful eyes. She had been 
all radiance and joy at the idea of coming to Sibley 
and being near the great cities, but not one happy 
look had he seen in her sweet and wistful face since 
the day of her arrival. Wilton, too, was another 


FROM THE RANKS 89 

captain who disliked Jerrold ; and Chester’s rugged 
sense of fair play told him that it was not among 
the enemies of the young officer that he should now 
seek advice, but that if he had a friend among the 
older and wiser heads in the regiment it was due to 
him that that older and wiser head be given a 
chance to think a little for Jerrold’s sake. And 
there was not one among the seniors whom he 
could call upon. As he ran over their names, Ches- 
ter for the first time realized that his ex-subaltern 
had not a friend among the captains and senior 
officers now on duty at the fort. His indifference 
to duties, his airy foppishness, his conceit and self- 
sufficiency, had all served to create a feeling against 
him; and this had been intensified by his conduct 
since coming to Sibley. The youngsters still kept 
up jovial relations with and professed to like him, 
but among the seniors there were many men who 
had only a nod for him on meeting. Wilton had 
epitomized the situation by saying he “ had no use 
for a masher,” and poor old Gray had one day 
scowlingly referred to him as “ the professional 
beauty.” 

In view of all this feeling, Chester would gladly 
have found some man to counsel further delay; 
but there was none. He felt that he must inform 


90 


FROM THE RANKS 


the colonel at once of the fact that Mr. Jerrold was 
absent from his quarters at the time of the firing, 
of his belief that it was Jerrold who struck him and 
sped past the sentry in the dark, and of his convic- 
tion that the sooner the young officer was called to 
account for his strange conduct the better. As to 
the episodes of the ladder, the lights, and the form 
at the dormer-window, he meant, for the present 
at least, to lock them in his heart. 

But he forgot that others too must have heard 
those shots, and that others too would be making 
inquiries. 


CHAPTER VI 

A lovely morning it was that beamed on Sibley 
and the broad and beautiful valley of the Cloud- 
water when once the sun got fairly above the moist 
horizon. Mist and vapor and heavy cloud all 
seemed swallowed up in the gathering, glowing 
warmth, as though the King of Day had risen 
athirst and drained the welcoming cup of nature. 
It must have rained at least a little during the dark- 
ness of the night, for dew there could have been 
none with skies so heavily overcast, and yet the 
short smooth turf on the parade, the leaves upon 
the little shade-trees around the quadrangle, and 
all the beautiful vines here on the trelliswork of the 
colonel’s veranda, shone and sparkled in the radiant 
light. The roses in the little garden, and the old- 
fashioned morning-glory vines over at the east side, 
were all a-glitter in the flooding sunshine when 
the bugler came out from a glance at the clock in 
the adjutant’s office and sounded “ sick-call” to the 
indifferent ear of the garrison. Once each day, at 
7.30 a.m., the doctor trudged across to the hospital 
and looked over the half-dozen “ hopelessly 

91 


92 


FROM THE RANKS 


healthy” but would-be invalids who wanted to get 
off guard duty or a morning at the range. Thanks 
to the searching examination to which every 
soldier must be subjected before he can enter the 
service of Uncle Sam, and to the disciplined order 
of the lives of the men at Sibley, maladies of any 
serious nature were almost unknown. It was a 
gloriously healthy post, as everybody admitted, 
and, to judge from the specimen of young- woman- 
hood that came singing, “ blithe and low,” out 
among the roses this same joyous morning, exu- 
berant physical well-being was not restricted to the 
men. 

A fairer picture never did dark beauty present 
than Alice Renwick, as she bent among the bushes 
or reached high among the vines in search of her 
favorite flowers. Tall, slender, willowy, yet with 
exquisitely-rounded form ; slim, dainty little hands 
and feet; graceful arms and wrists all revealed in 
the flowing sleeves of her snowy, web-like gown, 
fitting her and displaying her sinuous grace of form 
as gowns so seldom do to-day. And then her face ! 
— a glorious picture of rich, ripe, tropical beauty, 
with its great, soulful, sunlit eyes, heavily shaded 
though they were with those wondrous lashes; 
beautiful, too, in contour as was the lithe body, 


FROM THE RANKS 


93 


and beautiful in every feature, even to the rare 
and dewy curve of her red lips, half opened as 
she sang. She was smiling to herself, as she 
crooned her soft, murmuring melody, and every 
little while the great dark eyes glanced over 
towards the shaded doors of Bachelors’ Row. 
There was no one up to watch and tell : why should 
she not look thither, and even stand one moment 
peering under the veranda at a darkened window 
half-way down the row, as though impatient at the 
non-appearance of some familiar signal? How 
came the laggard late ? How slept the knight while 
here his lady stood impatient? She twined the 
leaves and roses in a fragrant knot, ran lightly 
within and laid them on the snowy cloth beside the 
colonel’s seat at table, came forth and plucked some 
more and fastened them, blushing, blissful, in the 
lace-fringed opening of her gown, through which, 
soft and creamy, shone the perfect neck. 

“Daisy, tell my fortune, pray : 

He loves me not, — he loves me,” 

she blithely sang, then, hurrying to the gate, shaded 
her eyes with the shapely hand and gazed intently. 
’Twas nearing eight, — nearing breakfast-time. But 
some one was coming. Horrid ! Captain Chester, 


94 


FROM THE RANKS 


of all men! Coming, of course, to see papa, 
and papa not yet down, and mamma had a head- 
ache and had decided not to come down at all, she 
would breakfast in her room. What girl on earth 
when looking and longing and waiting for the 
coming of a graceful youth of twenty-six would be 
anything but dismayed at the substitution therefor 
of a bulky, heavy-hearted captain of forty-six, no 
matter if he were still unmarried? And yet her 
smile was sweet and cordial. 

“ Why, good-morning, Captain Chester. I’m 
so glad to see you this bright day. Do come in and 
let me give you a rose. Papa will soon be down.” 
And she opened the gate and held forth one long, 
slim hand. He took it slowly, as though in a 
dream, raising his forage-cap at the same time, 
yet making no reply. He was looking at her far 
more closely than he imagined. How fresh, how 
radiant, how fair and gracious and winning ! 
Every item of her attire was so pure and white and 
spotless ; every fold and curve of her gown seemed 
charged with subtile, delicate fragrance, as faint 
and sweet as the shy and modest wood-violet’s. 
She noted his silence and his haggard eyes. She 
noted the intent gaze, and the color mounted 
straightway to her forehead. 


FROM THE RANKS 


95 


“ And have you no word of greeting for me?” 
she blithely laughed, striving to break through the 
awkwardness of his reserve, “ or are you worn out 
with your night watch as officer of the day ?” 

He fairly started. Had she seen him, then? 
Did she know it was he who stood beneath her win- 
dow, he who leaped in chase of that scoundrel, he 
who stole away with that heavy tell-tale ladder? 
and, knowing all this, could she stand there smiling 
in his face, the incarnation of maiden innocence and 
beauty? Impossible! Yet what could she mean? 

“ How did you know I had so long a vigil ?” 
he asked, and the cold, strained tone, the half- 
averted eyes, the pallor of his face, all struck her at 
once. Instantly her manner changed : 

“ Oh, forgive me, captain. I see you are all worn 
out ; and I’m keeping you here at the gate. Come 
to the piazza and sit down. I’ll tell papa you are 
here, for I know you want to see him.” And she 
tripped lightly away before he could reply, and 
rustled up the stairs. He could hear her light tap 
at the colonel’s door, and her soft, clear, flute-like 
voice : “ Papa, Captain Chester is here to see you.” 

Papa indeed ! She spoke to him and of him as 
though he were her own. He treated her as though 
she were his flesh and blood,— as though he loved 


96 


FROM THE RANKS 


her devotedly. Even before she came had not they 
been prepared for this ? Did not Mrs. Maynard tell 
them that Alice had become enthusiastically de- 
voted to her step-father and considered him the 
most knightly and chivalric hero she had ever seen ? 
He could hear the colonel's hearty and loving tone 
in reply, and then she came fluttering down again : 

“ Papa will be with you in five minutes, captain. 
But won’t you let me give you some coffee? It’s 
all ready, and you look so tired, — even ill.” 

“ I have had a bad night,” he answered, “ but I’m 
growing old, and cannot stand sleeplessness as you 
young people seem to.” 

Was she faltering? He watched her eagerly, 
narrowly, almost wonderingly. Not a trace of con- 
fusion, not a sign of fear ; and yet had he not seen 
her, and that other figure? 

“ I wish you could sleep as I do,” was the prompt 
reply. “ I was in the land of dreams ten minutes 
after my head touched the pillow, and mamma 
made me come home early last night because of our 
journey to-day. You know we are going down to 
visit Aunt Grace, Colonel Maynard’s sister, at Lake 
Sablon, and mamma wanted me to be looking my 
freshest and best,” she said, “ and I never heard a 
thing till reveille.” 


FROM THE RANKS 


97 


His eyes, sad, penetrating, doubting, — yet self- 
doubting, too, — searched her very soul. Unflinch- 
ingly the dark orbs looked into his, — even pity- 
ingly ; for she quickly spoke again : 

“ Captain, do come into the breakfast-room and 
have some coffee. You have not breakfasted, I’m 
sure.” 

He raised his hand as though to repel her offer, 
— even to put her aside. He must understand her. 
He could not be hoodwinked in this way. 

“ Pardon me, Miss Renwick, but did you hear 
nothing strange last night or early this morning? 
.Were you not disturbed at all?” 

“I? No, indeed!” True, her face had changed 
now, but there was no fear in her eyes. It was a 
look of apprehension, perhaps, of concern and curi- 
osity mingled, for his tone betrayed that something 
had happened which caused him agitation. 

“ And you heard no shots fired ?” 

“ Shots ! No ! Oh, Captain Chester ! what does 
it mean? Who was shot? Tell me!” 

And now, with paling face and wild apprehen- 
sion in her eyes, she turned and gazed beyond him, 
past the vines and the shady veranda, across the 
sunshine of the parade and under the old piazza, 
searching that still closed and darkened window. 

7 


9 8 


FROM THE RANKS 


“ Who ?” she implored, her hands clasping ner- 
vously, her eyes returning eagerly to his face. 

“ It was not Mr. Jerrold,” he answered, coldly. 
“ He is unhurt, so far as shot is concerned.” 

“ Then how is he hurt ? Is he hurt at all ?” she 
persisted; and then as she met his gaze her eyes 
fell, and the burning blush of maiden shame surged 
up to her forehead. She sank upon a seat and 
covered her face with her hands. 

“ I thought of Mr. Jerrold, naturally. He said 
he would be over early this morning,” was all she 
could find to say. 

“ I have seen him, and presume he will come. 
To all appearances, he is the last man to suffer from 
last night’s affair, he went on, relentlessly, — almost 
brutally, — but she never winced. “ It is odd you 
did not hear the shots. I thought yours was the 
northwest room, — this one?” he indicated, point- 
ing overhead. 

“ So it is, and I slept there all last night and 
heard nothing, — not a thing. Do tell me what the 
trouble was.” 

Then what was there for him to say ? The colo- 
nel’s footsteps were heard upon the stair, and the 
colonel, with extended hand and beaming face and 
cheery welcome, came from the open door-way : 


FROM THE RANKS 


99 


“ Welcome, Chester ! I’m glad you've come just 
in time for breakfast. Mrs. Maynard won’t be 
down. She slept badly last night, and is sleeping 
now. What was the firing last night? I did not 
hear it at the time, but the orderly and old Maria 
the cook were discussing it as I was shaving.” 

“ It is that I came to see you about, colonel. I 
am the man to hold responsible.” 

“ No prisoners got away, I hope?” 

“ No, sir. Nothing, I fear, that would seem to 
justify my action. I ordered Number Five to 
fire.” 

“ Why, what on earth could have happened 
around there, — almost back of us?” said the colo- 
nel, in surprise. 

“ I do not know what had happened, or what was 
going to happen.” And Chester paused a moment, 
and glanced towards the door through which Miss 
Renwick had retired as soon as the colonel arrived. 
The old soldier seemed to understand the glance. 
“ She would not listen,” he said, proudly. 

“ I know,” explained Chester. “ I think it best 
that no one but you should hear anything of the 
matter for the present until I have investigated 
further. It was nearly half-past three this morning 
as I got around here on Five’s post, inspecting 
L.ofC. 


100 


FROM THE RANKS 


sentinels, and came suddenly in the darkness upon 
a man carrying a ladder on his shoulder. I ordered 
him to halt. The reply was a violent blow, and the 
ladder and I were dropped at the same instant, 
while the man sprang into space and darted off in 
the direction of Number Five. I followed quick as 
I could, heard the challenge and the cries of halt, 
and shouted to Leary to fire. He did, but missed 
his aim in the haste and darkness, and the man 
got safely away. Of course there is much talk and 
speculation about it around the post this morning, 
for several people heard the shots besides the guard, 
and, although I told Leary and others to say 
nothing, I know it is already generally known.” 

“ Oh, well, come in to breakfast,” said the colo- 
nel. “ We’ll talk it over there.” 

“ Pardon me, sir, I cannot. I must get back home 
before guard-mount, and Rollins is probably wait- 
ing to see me now. I — I could not discuss it at the 
table, for there are some singular features about 
the matter.” 

“ Why, in God’s name, what?” asked the colonel, 
with sudden and deep anxiety. 

“ Well, sir, an officer of the garrison is placed in 
a compromising position by this affair, and cannot 
or will not explain.” 


FROM THE RANKS 


IOI 


“ Who?” 

“ Mr. Jerrold, sir.” 

“ Jerrold ! Why, I got a note from him not ten 
minutes ago saying he had an engagement in town 
and asking permission to go before guard-mount- 
ing, if Mr. Hall was ready. Hall wanted to go 
with him, Jerrold wrote, but Hall has not applied 
for permission to leave the post.” 

“ It is Jerrold who is compromised, colonel. I 
may be all wrong in my suspicions, all wrong in re- 
porting the matter to you at all, but in my per- 
plexity and distress I see no other way. Frankly, 
sir, the moment I caught sight of the man he looked 
like Jerrold ; and two minutes after the shots were 
fired I inspected Jerrold’s quarters. He was not 
there, though the lamps were burning very low in 
the bedroom, and his bed had not been occupied at 
all. When you see Leary, sir, he will tell you that 
he also thought it must be Mr. Jerrold.” 

“ The young scapegrace ! — been off to town, I 
suppose.” 

“ Colonel,” said Chester, quickly, “ you — not I — * 
must decide that. I went to his quarters after rev- 
eille ; he was then there, and resented my visit and 
questions, admitted that he had been out during the 
night, but refused to make any statement to me.” 


102 


FROM THE RANKS 


“ Well, Chester, I will haul him up after break- 
fast. Possibly he had been up to the rifle-camp, or 
had driven to town after the doctor’s party. Of 
course that must be stopped; but I’m glad you 
missed him. It, of course, staggers a man’s judg- 
ment to be knocked down, but if you had killed him 
it might have been as serious for you as this knock- 
down blow will be for him. That is the worst phase 
of the matter. What could he have been thinking 
of ? He must have been either drunk or mad ; and 
he rarely drank. Oh, dear, dear, dear, but that’s 
very bad, — very bad, — striking the officer of the 
day! Why, Chester, that’s the worst thing that’s 
happened in the regiment since I took command of 
it. It’s about the worst thing that could have hap- 
pened to us. Of course he must go in arrest. I’ll 
see the adjutant right after breakfast. I’ll be over 
early, Chester.” And with grave and worried face 
the colonel bade him adieu. 

As he turned away, Chester heard him saying 
again to himself, “ About the worst thing he could 
have done ! — the worst thing he could have done !” 
And the captain’s heart sank within him. What 
would the colonel say when he knew how far, far 
worse was the foul wrong Mr. Jerrold had done to 
him and his ? 


CHAPTER VII 


Before guard-mounting — almost half an hour 
before his usual time for appearing at the office — 
Colonel Maynard hurried in to his desk, sent the 
orderly for Captain Chester, and then the clerks in 
the sergeant-major's room heard him close and 
lock the door. As the subject of the shooting was 
already under discussion among the men there 
assembled, this action on the part of the chief was 
considered highly significant. It was hardly five 
minutes before Chester came, looked surprised at 
finding the door locked, knocked, and was admitted. 

The look on the haggard face at the desk, the 
dumb misery in the eyes, the wrath and horror in 
it all, carried him back twenty years to that gloomy 
morning in the casemates when the story was 
passed around that Captain Maynard had lost a 
wife and an intimate friend during the previous 
night. Chester saw at a glance that, despite his 
precautions, the blow had come, the truth been re- 
vealed at one fell swoop. 

“ Lock the door again, Chester, and come here. 
I have some questions to ask you.” 


103 


104 


FROM THE RANKS 


The captain silently took the chair which was in- 
dicated by a wave of the colonel’s hand, and waited. 
For a moment no word more was spoken. The old 
soldier, white and trembling strangely, reseated 
himself at the desk, and covered his face with his 
hands. Twice he drew them with feebly stroking 
movement over his eyes, as though to rally the 
stunned faculties and face the trying ordeal. Then 
a shiver passed through his frame, and with sudden 
lift of the head he fixed his gaze on Chester’s face 
and launched the question, — 

“ Chester, is there any kindness to a man who 
has been through what I have in telling only half 
a tale, as you have done?” 

The captain colored red. “ I am at a loss to an- 
swer you, colonel,” he said, after brief reflection. 
“ You know far more than you did half an hour 
ago, and what I knew I could not bear to tell you as 
yet.” 

“ My God ! my God ! Tell me all, and tell me at 
once. Here, man, if you need stimulant to your 
indignation and cannot speak without it, read this. 
I found it, open, among the rose-bushes in the 
garden, where she must have dropped it when out 
there with you. Read it. Tell me what it means ; 
for, God knows, I can’t believe such a thing of her.” 


FROM THE RANKS 


105 


He handed Chester a sheet of note-paper. It was 
moist and blurred on the first page, but the inner 
pages, though damp, were in good condition. The 
first, second, and third pages were closely covered 
in a bold, nervous hand that Chester knew well. 
It was Jerrold’s writing, beyond a doubt, and 
Chester’s face grew hot as he read, and his heart 
turned cold as stone when he finished the last 
hurried line. 

“ My Darling, — I must see you, if only for a 
moment, before you leave. Do not let this alarm 
you, for the more I think the more I am convinced 
it is only a bluff, but Captain Chester discovered 
my absence early this morning when spying around 
as usual, and now he claims to have knowledge of 
our secret. Even if he was on the terrace when I 
got back, it was too dark for him to recognize me, 
and it seems impossible that he can have got any 
real clue. He suspects, perhaps, and thinks to 
force me to confession; but I would guard your 
name with my life. Be wary. Act as though there 
were nothing on earth between us, and if we cannot 
meet until then I will be at the depot with the 
others to see you off, and will then have a letter 
ready with full particulars and instructions. It will 


io6 FROM THE RANKS 

be in the first thing I hand you. Hide it until you 
can safely read it. Your mother must not be al- 
lowed a glimmer of suspicion, and then you are 
safe. As for me, even Chester cannot make the 
colonel turn against me now. My jealous one, my 
fiery sweetheart, do you not realize now that I was 
!wise in showing her so much attention? A thou- 
sand kisses. Come what may, they cannot rob us 
of the past. 

“ Howard. 

“ I fear you heard and were alarmed by the shots 
just after I left you. All was quiet when I got 
home.” 

It was some seconds before Chester could control 
himself sufficiently to speak. “ I wish to God the 
bullet had gone through his heart !” he said. 

“ It has gone through mine, — through mine 1 
This will kill her mother. Chester,” cried the colo- 
nel, springing suddenly to his feet, “ she must not 
know it. She must not dream of it. I tell you it 
would stretch her in the dust, dead, for she loves 
that child with all her strength, with all her being, 
I believe, for it is two mother-loves in one. She 
had a son, older than Alice by several years, her 


FROM THE RANKS 


107 


first-born, — her glory, he was, — but the boy in- 
herited the father’s passionate and impulsive na- 
ture. He loved a girl utterly beneath him, and 
would have married her when he was only twenty. 
There is no question that he loved her well, for he 
refused to give her up, no matter what his father 
threatened. They tried to buy her off, and she 
scorned them. Then they had a letter written, 
while he was sent abroad under pretence that he 
should have his will if he came back in a year un- 
changed. By Jove, it seems she was as much in 
love as he, and it broke her heart. She went off 
and died somewhere, and he came back ahead of 
time because her letters had ceased, and found it 
all out. There was an awful scene. He cursed 
them both, — father and mother, — and left her 
senseless at his feet ; and from that day to this they 
never heard of him, never could get the faintest 
report. It broke Renwick, — killed him, I guess, 
for he died in two years; and as for the mother, 
you would not think that a woman so apparently 
full of life and health was in desperate danger. 
She had some organic trouble with the heart years 
ago, they tell her, and this experience has devel- 
oped it so that now any great emotion or sudden 
shock is perilous. Do you not see how doubly fear- 


io8 


FROM THE RANKS 


ful this comes to us? Chester, I have weathered 
one awful storm, but I’m old and broken now. 
This — this beats me. Tell me what to do.” 

The captain was silent a few moments. He was 
thinking intently. 

“ Does she know you have that letter ?” he 
asked. 

Maynard shook his head : “ I looked back as I 
came away. She was in the parlor, singing softly 
to herself, at the very moment I picked it up, lying 
open as it was right there among the roses, the first 
words staring me in the face. I meant not to read 
it, — never dreamed it was for her, — and had turned 
over the page to look for the superscription. There 
was none, but there I saw the signature and that 
postscript about the shots. That startled me, and 
I read it here just before you came, and then could 
account for your conduct, — something I could not 
do before. God of heaven ! would any man believe 
it of her ? It is incredible ! Chester, tell me every- 
thing you know now, — even everything you sus- 
pect. I must see my way clear.” 

And then the captain, with halting and reluctant 
tongue, told his story : how he had stumbled on the 
ladder back of the colonel’s quarters and learned 
from Number Five that some one had been prowl- 


FROM THE RANKS 


109 


ing back of Bachelors’ Row ; how he returned there 
afterwards, found the ladder at the side-wall, and 
saw the tall form issue from her window ; how he 
had given chase and been knocked breathless and 
of his suspicions, and Leary’s, as to the identity 
of the stranger. 

The colonel bowed his head still deeper, and 
groaned aloud. But he had still other questions to 
ask. 

“ Did you see — any one else at the window ?” 

“ Not while he was there.” 

“ At any time, then, — before or after ?” And the 
colonel’s eyes would take no denial. 

“ I saw,” faltered Chester, “ nobody. The shade 
was pulled up while I was standing there, after I 
had tripped on the ladder. I supposed the noise of 
my stumble had awakened her.” 

“ And was that all ? Did you seen nothing 
more ?” 

“ Colonel, I did see, afterwards, a woman’s hand 
and arm closing the shade.” 

“ My God ! And she told me she slept the night 
through, — never waked or heard a sound !” 

“ Did you hear nothing yourself, colonel ?” 

“ Nothing. When she came home from the 
party she stopped a moment, saying something to 


no 


FROM THE RANKS 


him at the door, then came into the library and 
kissed me good-night. I shut up the house and 
went to bed about half-past twelve, and her door 
was closed when I went to our room.” 

“ So there were two closed doors, yours and hers, 
and the broad hall between you ?” 

“ Certainly. We have the doors open all night 
that lead into the rear rooms, and their windows. 
This gives us abundant air. Alice always has the 
hall door closed at night.” 

“ And Mrs. Maynard, — was she asleep ?” 

“ No. Mrs. Maynard was lying awake, and 
seemed a little restless and disturbed. Some of the 
women had been giving her some hints about Jer- 
rold and fretting her. You know she took a 
strange fancy to him at the start. It was simply 
because he reminded her so strongly of the boy she 
had lost. She told me so. But after a little she 
began to discover traits in him she did not like, 
and then his growing intimacy with Alice worried 
her. She would have put a stop to the doctor’s 
party, — to her going with him, I mean, — but the 
engagement was made some days ago. Two or 
three days since, she warned Alice not to trust him, 
she says; and it is really as much on this as any 
other account that we decided to get her away, off 


FROM THE RANKS 


hi 


to see her aunt Grace. Oh, God ! how blind we 
are ! how blind we are I” And poor old Maynard 
bowed his head and almost groaned aloud. 

Chester rose, and, in his characteristic way, be- 
gan tramping nervously up and down. There was 
a knock at the door. “ The adjutant’s compli- 
ments, and ’twas time for guard-mount. Would 
the colonel wish to see him before he went out?” 
asked the orderly. 

“ I ought to go, , sir,” said Chester. “ I am old 
officer of the day, and there will be just time for me 
to get into full uniform.” 

“ Let them go on without you,” said Maynard. 
“ I cannot spare you now. Send word to that 
effect. Now, — now about this man, — this Jerrold. 
What is the best thing we can do? — of course I 
know what he most deserves; — but what is the 
best thing under all the circumstances ? Of course 
my wife and Alice will leave to-day. She was 
still sleeping when I left, and, pray God, is not 
dreaming of this. It was nearly two before she 
closed her eyes last night; and I, too, slept badly. 
You have seen him. What does he say?” 

“ Denies everything, — anything, — challenges me 
to prove that he was absent from his house more 
than five minutes, — indeed, I could not, for he may 


1 12 


FROM THE RANKS 


have come in just after I left, — and pretended utter 
ignorance of my meaning when I accused him of 
striking me before I ordered the sentry to fire. Of 
course it is all useless now. When I confront him 
with this letter he must give in. Then let him re- 
sign and get away as quietly as possible before the 
end of the week. No one need know the causes. 
Of course shooting is what he deserves ; but shoot- 
ing demands explanation. It is better for your 
name, hers, and all, that he should be allowed to 
live than that the truth were suspected, as it would 
be if he were killed. Indeed, sir, if I were you I 
would take them to Sablon, keep them away for a 
fortnight, and leave him to me. It may be even 
judicious to let him go on with all his duties as 
though nothing had happened, as though he had 
simply been absent from reveille, and let the whole 
matter drop like that until all remark and curiosity 
is lulled ; then you can send her back to Europe or 
the East, — time enough to decide on that; but I 
will privately tell him he must quit the service in 
six months, and show him why. It isn’t the way it 
ought to be settled ; it probably isn’t the way Armi- 
tage would do it ; but it is the best thing that occurs 
to me. One thing is certain : you and they ought 
to get away at once, and he should not be permitted 


FROM THE RANKS 


ii3 

to see her again. I can run the post a few days and 
explain matters after you go.” 

The colonel sat in wretched silence a few mo- 
ments ; then he arose : 

“ If it were not for her danger, — her heart, — I 
would never drop the matter here, — never! I 
would see it through to the bitter end. But you 
are probably right as to the prudent course to take. 
I'll get them away on the noon train: he thinks 
they do not start until later. Now I must go and 
face it. My God, Chester ! could you look at that 
child and realize it? Even now, even now, sir, I 
believe — I believe, someway — somehow — she is in- 
nocent.” 

“ God grant it, sir !” 

And then the colonel left the office, avoiding, as 
has been told, a word with any man. Chester but- 
toned the tell-tale letter in an inner pocket, after 
having first folded the sheet lengthwise and then 
enclosed it in a long official envelope. The officers, 
wondering at the colonel’s distraught appearance, 
had come thronging in, hoping for information, 
and then had gone, unsatisfied and disgusted, prac- 
tically turned out by their crabbed senior captain. 
The ladies, after chatting aimlessly about the quad- 
rangle for half an hour, had decided that Mrs. 

8 


FROM THE RANKS 


114 

Maynard must be ill, and, while most of them 
awaited the result, two of their number went to the 
coloners house and rang at the bell. A servant ap- 
peared : “ Mrs. Maynard wasn’t very well this 
morning, and was breakfasting in her room, and 
Miss Alice was with her, if the ladies would please 
excuse them.” And so the emissaries returned un- 
successful. Then, too, as we have seen, despite his 
good intention of keeping matters hushed as much 
as possible, Chester’s nervous irritability had got 
the better of him, and he had made damaging ad- 
missions to Wilton of the existence of a cause of 
worriment and perplexity, and this Wilton told 
without compunction. And then there was another 
excitement, that set all tongues wagging. Every 
man had heard what Chester said, that Mr. Jer- 
rold must not quit the garrison until he had first 
come and seen the temporary commanding officer, 
and Hall had speedily carried the news to his 
friend. 

“ Are you ready to go?” asked Mr. Jerrold, who 
was lacing his boots in the rear room. 

“ No. I’ve got to go and get into * cits’ first.” 

“ All right. Go, and be lively ! I’ll wait for you 
at Murphy’s, beyond the bridge, provided you say 
nothing about it.” 


FROM THE RANKS 


ii5 

“ You don't mean you are going against or- 
ders?" 

“ Going? Of course I am. I’ve got old May- 
nard’s permission, and if Chester means to revoke 
it he’s got to get his adjutant here inside of ten 
seconds. What you tell me isn’t official. I’m off 
now!” 

And when the adjutant returned to Captain 
Chester it was with the information that he was too 
late : Mr. Jerrold’s dog-cart had crossed the bridge 
five minutes earlier. 

Perhaps an hour later the colonel sent for Ches- 
ter, and the captain went to his house. The old 
soldier was pacing slowly up and down the parlor 
floor. 

“ I wanted you a moment. A singular thing has 
happened. You know that ‘ Directoire’ cabinet 
photo of Alice? My wife always kept it on her 
dressing-table, and this morning it’s gone. That 
frame — the silver filigree thing — was found behind 
a sofa-pillow in Alice’s room, and she declares she 
has no idea how it got there. Chester, is there any 
new significance in this?" 

The captain bowed assent. 

“ What is it?" 

“ That photograph was seen by Major Sloat 


n6 FROM THE RANKS 

in Jerrold’s bureau-drawer at reveille this morn- 
ing” 

And such was the situation at Sibley the August 
day the colonel took his wife and her lovely daugh- 
ter to visit Aunt Grace at Lake Sablon. 


CHAPTER VIII 

In the big red omnibus that was slowly toiling 
over the dusty road several passengers were making 
their way from the railway-station to the hotel at 
Lake Sablon. Two of them were women of ma- 
ture years, whose dress and bearing betokened lives 
of ease and comfort ; another was a lovely brunette 
of less than twenty, the daughter, evidently, of one 
of these ladies, and an object of loving pride to 
both. These three seemed at home in their sur- 
roundings, and were absorbed in the packet of let- 
ters and papers they had just received at the station. 
It was evident that they were not new arrivals, as 
were the other passengers, who studied them with 
the half-envious feelings with which new-comers, 
at a summer resort are apt to regard those who 
seem to have been long established there, and who 
gathered from the scraps of conversation that they 
had merely been over to say good-bye to friends 
leaving on the very train which brought in the rest 
of what we good Americans term “ the ’bus-load.” 
There were women among the newly-arrived who 
inspected the dark girl with that calm, unflinching, 

ii 7 


n8 


FROM THE RANKS 


impertinent scrutiny and half-audibly whispered 
comment which, had they been of the opposite sex, 
would have warranted their being kicked out of the 
conveyance, but which was ignored by the fair ob- 
ject and her friends as completely as were the com- 
mentators themselves. There were one or two men 
in the omnibus who might readily have been for- 
given an admiring glance or two at so bright, a 
vision of girlish beauty as was Miss Renwick this 
August afternoon, and they had looked; but the 
one who most attracted the notice of Mrs. May- 
nard and Aunt Grace — a tall, stalwart, distin- 
guished-looking party in gray travelling-dress — 
had taken his seat close to the door and was deep 
in the morning’s paper before they were fairly 
away from the station. 

Laying down the letter she had just finished 
reading, Mrs. Maynard glanced at her daughter, 
who was still engaged in one of her own, and evi- 
dently with deep interest. 

“ From Fort Sibley, Alice?” . 

“ Yes, mamma, all three, — Miss Craven, Mrs. 
Hoyt, and — Mr. Jerrold. Would you like to see 
it?” And, with rising color, she held forth the 
one in her hand. 

“ Not now,” was the answer, with a smile that 


FROM THE RANKS 


119 

told of confidence and gratification both. “ It is 
about the german, I suppose?” 

“ Yes. He thinks it outrageous that we should 
not be there, — says it is to be the prettiest ever 
given at the fort, and that Mrs. Hoyt and Mrs. 
Craven, who are the managers for the ladies, had 
asked him to lead. He wants to know if we can- 
not possibly come.” 

“ Are you not very eager to go, Alice ? I should 
be,” said Aunt Grace, with sympathetic interest. 

“ Yes, I am,” answered Miss Renwick, reflec- 
tively. “ It had been arranged that it should come 
off next week, when, as was supposed, we would be 
home after this visit. It cannot be postponed, of 
course, because it is given in honor of all the offi- 
cers who are gathered there for the rifle-competi- 
tion, and that will be all over and done with to-day, 
and they cannot stay beyond Tuesday next. We 
must give it up, auntie,” and she looked up 
smilingly, “ and you have made it so lovely for me 
here that I can do it without a sigh. Think of that ! 
— an army german! — and Fanny Craven says the 
favors are to be simply lovely. Yes, I did want to 
go, but papa said he felt unequal to it the mo- 
ment he got back from Chicago, day before yes- 
terday, and he certainly does not look at all well : 


120 


FROM THE RANKS 


so that ended it, and I wrote at once to Mrs. Hoyt 
This is her answer now.” 

“ What does she say ?” 

“ Oh, it is very kind of her : she wants me to 
come and be her guest if the colonel is too ill to 
come and mamma will not leave him. She says 
Mr. Hoyt will come down and escort me. But I 
would not like to go without mamma,” and the big 
dark eyes looked up wistfully, “ and I know she 
does not care to urge papa when he seems so indis- 
posed to going.” 

Mrs. Maynard's eyes were anxious and troubled 
now. She turned to her sister-in-law : 

“ Do you think he seems any better, Grace ? I 
do not.” 

“ It is hard to say. He was so nervously anxious 
to get away to see the general the very day you ar- 
rived here that there was not a moment in which I 
could ask him about himself ; and since his return 
he has avoided all mention of it beyond saying it 
is nothing but indigestion and he would be all 
right in a few days. I never knew him to suffer in 
that way in my life. Is there any regimental mat- 
ter that can be troubling him ?” she asked, in lower 
tone. 

“ Nothing of any consequence whatever. Of 


FROM THE RANKS 


121 


course the officers feel chagrined over their defeat 
in the rifle-match. They had expected to stand 
very high, but Mr. Jerrold’s shooting was unex- 
pectedly below the average, and it threw their team 
behind. But the colonel didn’t make the faintest 
allusion to it. That hasn’t worried him anywhere 
near as much as it has the others, I should 
judge.” 

“ I do not think it was all Mr. Jerrold’s fault, 
mamma,” said Miss Renwick, with gentle reproach 
and a very becoming flush. “ I’m going to stand 
up for him, because I think they all blame him for 
other men’s poor work. He was not the only one 
on our team whose shooting was below former 
scores.” 

“ They claim that none fell so far below their 
expectations as he, Alice. You know I am no 
judge of such matters, but Mr. Hoyt and Captain 
Gray both write the colonel that Mr. Jerrold had 
been taking no care of himself whatever and was 
entirely out of form.” 

“ In any event I’m glad the cavalry did no bet- 
ter,” was Miss Renwick’s loyal response. “ You 
remember the evening we rode out to the range and 
Captain Gray said that there was the man who 
would win the first prize from Mr. Jerrold, — that 


122 


FROM THE RANKS 


tall cavalry sergeant who fainted away, — Sergeant 
McLeod; don’t you remember, mother? Well, 
he did not even get a place, and Mr. Jerrold beat 
him easily.” 

Something in her mother’s eyes warned her to be 
guarded, and, in that indefinable but unerring sys- 
tem of feminine telegraphy, called her attention to 
the man sitting by the door. Looking quickly to 
her right, Miss Renwiok saw that he was intently 
regarding her. At the mention of Fort Sibley the 
stranger had lowered his paper, revealing a bronzed 
face clean-shaven except for the thick blonde mous- 
tache, and a pair of clear, steady, searching blue 
eyes under heavy brows and lashes, and these eyes 
were very deliberately yet respectfully fixed upon 
her own ; nor were they withdrawn in proper con- 
fusion when detected. It was Miss Renwick whose 
eyes gave up the contest and returned in some sense 
of defeat to her mother’s face. 

“ What letters have you for the colonel ?” asked 
Mrs. Maynard, coming au secours. 

“ Three, — two of them from his devoted hench- 
man Captain Chester, who writes by every mail, 
I should imagine; and these he will go off into 
some secluded nook with and come back looking 
blue and worried. Then here’s another, forwarded 


FROM THE RANKS 


123 


from Sibley, too. I do not know this hand. Per- 
haps it is from Captain Armitage, who, they say, 
is to come back next month. Poor Mr. Jerrold !” 

“Why poor Mr. Jerrold ?” asked Aunt Grace, 
with laughing interest, as she noted the expression 
on her niece’s pretty face. 

“ Because he can’t bear Captain Armitage, 
and ” 

“Now, Alice!” said her mother, reprovingly. 
“ You must not take his view of the captain at all. 

Remember what the colonel said of him ” 

“ Mother dear,” protested Alice, laughing, “ I 
have no doubt Captain Armitage is the paragon 
of a soldier, but he is unquestionably a most un- 
pleasant and ungentlemanly person in his conduct 
to the young officers. Mr. Hall has told me the 
same thing. I declare, I don’t see how they can 
speak to him at all, he has been so harsh and dis- 
courteous and unjust.” The color was rising in 
earnest now, but a warning glance in her mother’s 
eye seemed to check further words. There was an 
instant’s silence. Then Aunt Grace remarked, — 

“ Alice, your next-door neighbor has vanished. 
I think your vehemence has frightened him.” 

Surely enough, the big, blue-eyed man in tweeds 
had disappeared. During this brief controversy 


124 


FROM THE RANKS 


he had quickly and noiselessly let himself out of the 
open door, swung lightly to the ground, and was 
out of sight among the trees. 

“ Why, what a strange proceeding !” said Aunt 
Grace again. “We are fully a mile and a half from 
the hotel, and he means to walk it in this glaring, 
sun.” 

Evidently he did. The driver reined up at the 
moment in response to a suggestion from some one 
in a forward seat, and there suddenly appeared by 
the wayside, striding out from the shelter of the 
sumachs, the athletic figure of the stranger. 

“ Go ahead !” he called, in a deep chest-voice that 
had an unmistakable ring to it, — the tone that one 
so readily recognizes in men accustomed to prompt 
action and command. “ I’m going across lots.” 
And, swinging his heavy stick, with quick, elastic, 
steps and erect carriage the man in gray plunged 
into a wood-path and was gone. 

“ Alice,” said Aunt Grace, again, “ that man is 
an officer, I’m sure, and you have driven him into 
exile and lonely wandering. I’ve seen so much of 
them when visiting my brother in the old days 
before my marriage that even in civilian dress it 
is easy to tell some of them. Just look at that back, 
and those shoulders ! He has been a soldier all his 


FROM THE RANKS 


125 

life. Horrors ! suppose it should be Captain Armi- 
tage himself !” 

Miss Renwick looked genuinely distressed, as 
well as vexed. Certainly no officer but Captain 
Armitage would have had reason to leave the stage. 
Certainly officers and their families occasionally 
visited Sablon in the summer-time, but Captain 
Armitage could hardly be there. There was com- 
forting assurance in the very note she held in her 
hand. 

“ It cannot be,” she said, “ because Mr. Jerrold 
writes that they have just heard from him at Sibley. 
He is still at the sea-shore, and will not return for 
a month. Mr. Jerrold says he implored Captain 
Chester to let him have three days’ leave to come 
down here and have a sail and a picnic with us, 
and he was told that it would be out of the ques- 
tion.” 

“ Did he tell you any other news ?” asked Mrs. 
Maynard, looking up from her letter again, — “ any- 
thing about the german ?” 

“ He says he thinks it a shame we are to be away 
and — well, read it yourself.” And she placed it in 
her mother’s hands, the dark eyes seriously, 
anxiously studying her face as she read. Presently 
Mrs. Maynard laid it down and looked again into 


126 


FROM THE RANKS 


her own, then, pointing to a certain passage with* 
her finger, handed it to her daughter. 

“ Men were deceivers ever,” she said, laughing, 
yet oracularly significant. 

And Alice Renwick could not quite control the 
start with which she read, — 

“ Mr. Jerrold is to lead with his old love, Nina 
Beaubien. They make a capital pair, and she, of 
course, will be radiant — with Alice out of the 
way.” 

“ That is something Mr. Jerrold failed to men- 
tion, is it not?” 

Miss Renwick’s cheeks were flushed, and the 
dark eyes were filled with sudden pain, as she an- 
swered, — 

“ I did not know she was there. She was to have 
gone to the Lakes the same day we left.” 

“ She did go, Alice,” said her mother, quietly, 
“ but it was only for a brief visit, it seems.” 

The colonel was not at their cottage when the 
omnibus reached the lake. Over at the hotel were 
the usual number of loungers gathered to see thei 
new arrivals, and Alice presently caught sight of 
the colonel coming through the park. If anything, 
he looked more listless and dispirited than he had 
before they left. She ran down the steps to meet 


FROM THE RANKS 127 

him, smiling brightly up into his worn and hag- 
gard face. 

“ Are you feeling a little brighter, papa ? Here 
are letters for you.” 

He took them wearily, barely glancing at the 
superscriptions. 

“ I had hoped for something more,” he said, and 
passed on into the little frame house which was his 
sister's summer home. “ Is your mother here?” he 
asked, looking back as he entered the door. 

“ In the north room, with Aunt Grace, papa,” 
she answered ; and then once more and with graver 
face she began to read Mr. Jerrold’s letter. It was 
a careful study she was making of it this time, and 
not altogether a pleasant one. Aunt Grace came 
out and made some laughing remark at seeing her 
still so occupied. She looked up, pluckily smiling 
despite a sense of wounded pride, and answered, — 

“ I am only convincing myself that it was purely 
on general principles that Mr. Jerrold seemed so 
anxious I should be there. He never wanted me to 
lead with him at all.” All the same it stung, and 
Aunt Grace saw and knew it, and longed to take 
her to her heart and comfort her ; but it was better 
so. She was finding him out unaided. 

She was still studying over portions of that in- 


128 


FROM THE RANKS 


genious letter, when the rustle of her aunt’s gown 
indicated that she was rising. She saw her move 
towards the steps, heard a quick, firm tread upon 
the narrow planking, and glanced up in surprise. 
There, uncovering his close-cropped head, stood the 
tall stranger, looking placidly up as he addressed 
Aunt Grace : 

“ Pardon me, can I see Colonel Maynard ?” 

“ He is at home. Pray come up and take a 
chair. I will let him know. I — I felt sure you must 
be some friend of his when I saw you in the stage,” 
said the good lady, with manifest and apologetic 
uneasiness. 

“ Yes,” responded the stranger, as he quickly 
ascended the steps and bowed before her, smiling 
quietly the while. “ Let me introduce myself. I 
am Captain Armitage, of the colonel’s regiment.” 

“ There ! I knew it !” was Aunt Grace’s response, 
as with both hands uplifted in tragic despair she 
gave one horror-stricken glance at Alice and 
rushed into the house. 

There was a moment’s silence ; then, with burn- 
ing cheeks, but with brave eyes that looked frankly 
into his, Alice Renwick arose, came straight up to 
him, and held out her pretty hand. 

“ Captain Armitage, I beg your pardon.” 


FROM THE RANKS 


129 


He took the extended hand and gazed earnestly 
into her face, while a kind — almost merry — smile 
lighted up his own. 

“ Have the boys given me such an uncanny repu- 
tation as all that ?” he asked ; and then, as though 
tickled with the comicality of the situation, he be- 
gan to laugh. “ What ogres some of us old sol- 
diers do become in the course of years! Do you 
know, young lady, I might never have suspected 
what a brute I was if it had not been for you? 
What a blessed thing it was the colonel did not tell 
you I was coming! You would never have given 
me this true insight into my character.” 

But she saw nothing to laugh at, and would not 
laugh. Her lovely face was still burning with 
blushes and dismay and full of trouble. 

“ I do not look upon it lightly at all,” she said. 
“ It was unpardonable in me to — to ” 

“ To take so effective and convincing a method 
of telling a man of his grievous sins ! Not a bit of 
it. I like a girl who has the courage to stand up for 
her friends. I shall congratulate Jerrold and Hall 
both when I get back, lucky fellows that they 
are!” 

And evidently Captain Armitage was deriving 
altogether too much jolly entertainment from her 
9 


130 


FROM THE RANKS 


awkwardness. She rallied and strove to put an end 
to it. 

“ Indeed, Captain Armitage, I do think the 
young officers sorely need friends and advocates 
at times. I never would have knowingly spoken 
to you of your personal responsibilities in the woes 
of Mr. Jerrold and Mr. Hall, but since I have done 
so unwittingly I may as well define my position, 
especially as you are so good-natured with it all." 
And here, it must be admitted, Miss Renwick’s 
beautiful eyes were shyly lifted to his in a most 
telling way. Once there, they looked squarely into 
the clear blue depths of his, and never flinched. 
(i It seemed to me several times at Sibley that the 
young officers deserved more consideration and 
courtesy than their captains accorded them. It was 
not you alone that I heard of.” 

“ I am profoundly gratified to learn that some- 
body else is a brute,” he answered, trying to look 
grave, but with that irrepressible merriment twitch- 
ing at the corners of his mouth and giving sudden 
gleams of his firm white teeth through the thick 
moustache. “ You are come to us just ip time, 
Miss Renwicjc, and if you will let me come and \p\\ 
you all my sorrows the next time the colonel pitches 
into me for something wrong in B Company, I’ll 


FROM THE RANKS 


131 

give you full permission to overhaul me for every- 
thing or anything I say and do to the youngsters. 
Is it a bargain?” And he held out his big, firm 
hand. 

“ I think you are — very different from what I 
heard,” was all her answer, as she looked up in 
his eyes, twinkling as they were with fun. “ Oh, 
we are to shake hands on it as a bargain ? Is that 
it? Very well, then.” 


CHAPTER IX 


When Captain Armitage left the cottage that 
night he did not go at once to his own room. Brief 
as was the conversation he had enjoyed with Miss 
Renwick, it was all that Fate vouchsafed him for 
that date at least. The entire party went to tea 
together at the hotel, but immediately thereafter 
the colonel carried Armitage away, and for two 
long hours they were closeted over some letters that 
had come from Sibley, and when the conference 
broke up and the wondering ladies saw the two men 
come forth it was late, — almost ten o’clock, — and 
the captain did not venture beyond the threshold 
of the sitting-room. He bowed and bade them a 
somewhat ceremonious good-night. His eyes 
rested — lingered — on Miss Renwick’s uplifted face, 
and it was the picture he took with him into the 
stillness of the summer night. 

The colonel accompanied him to the steps, and 
rested his hand upon the broad gray shoulder. 

“ God only knows how I have needed you, Armi- 
tage. This trouble has nearly crushed me, and it 
seemed as though I were utterly alone. I had the 
132 


FROM THE RANKS 


133 


haunting fear that it was only weakness on my part 
and my love for my wife that made me stand out 
against Chester’s propositions. He can only see 
guilt and conviction in every new phase of the case, 
and, though you see how he tries to spare me, his 
letters give no hope of any other conclusion.” 

Armitage pondered a moment before he an- 
swered. Then he slowly spoke : 

“ Chester has lived a lonely and an unhappy life. 
His first experience after graduation was that 
wretched affair of which you have told me. Of 
course I knew much of the particulars before, but 
not all. I respect Chester as a soldier and a gentle- 
man, and I like him and trust him as a friend ; but, 
Colonel Maynard, in a matter of such vital impor- 
tance as this, and one of such delicacy, I distrust, 
not his motives, but his judgment. All his life, 
practically, he has been brooding over the sorrow 
that came to him when your trouble came to you, 
and his mind is grooved : he believes he sees mys- 
tery and intrigue in matters that others might ex- 
plain in an instant.” 

“ But think of all the array of evidence he has.” 

“ Enough, and more than enough, I admit, to 
warrant everything he has thought or said of the 
man; but ” 


134 


FROM THE RANKS 


“ He simply puts it this way. If he be guilty, 
can she be less ? Is it possible, Armitage, that you 
are unconvinced ?” 

“ Certainly I am unconvinced. The matter has 
not been sifted. As I undertand it, you have for- 
bidden his confronting Jerrold with the proofs of 
his rascality until I get there. Admitting the evi- 
dence of the ladder, the picture, and the form at the 
window, — ay, the letter, too, — I am yet to be con- 
vinced of one thing. You must remember that his 
judgment is biassed by his early experiences. He 
fancies that no woman is proof against such fas- 
cinations as Jerrold , s. ,, 

“ And your belief ?” 

“ Is that some women — many women — are ut- 
terly above such a possibility.” 

Old Maynard wrung his comrade’s hand. “ You 
make me hope in spite of myself, — my past experi- 
ences, — my very senses, Armitage. I have leaned 
on you so many years that I missed you sorely 
when this trial came. If you had been there, things 
might not have taken this shape. He looks upon 
Chester — and it’s one thing Chester hasn’t for- 1 
given in him — as a meddling old granny ; you re- 
member the time he so spoke of him last year ; but 
he holds you in respect, or is afraid of you, — which 


FROM THE RANKS 


135 


in a man of his calibre is about the same thing. It 
may not be too late for you to act. Then when he 
is disposed of once and for all, I can know what 
must be done — where she is concerned/’ 

“ And under no circumstances can you question 
Mrs. Maynard?” 

“ No! no! If she suspected anything of this it 
would kill her. In any event, she must have no sus- 
picion of it now” 

“ But does she not ask ? Has she no theory 
about the missing photograph? Surely she must 
marvel over its disappearance.” 

“ She does ; at least, she did; but — I’m ashamed 
to own it, Armitage — we had to quiet her natural 
suspicions in some way, and I told her that it was 
my doing, — that I took it to tease Alice, put the 
photograph in the drawer of my desk, and hid the 
frame behind her sofa-pillow. Chester knows of 
the arrangement, and we had settled that when the 
picture was recovered from Mr. Jerrold he would 
send it to me.” 

Armitage was silent. A frown settled on his 
forehead, and it was evident that the statement was 
far from welcome to him. Presently he held forth 
his hand. 

“ .Well, good-night, sir. I must go and have a 


136 


FROM THE RANKS 


quiet think over this. I hope you will rest well. 
You need it, colonel.” 

But Maynard only shook his head. His heart 
was too troubled for rest of any kind. He stood 
gazing out towards the park, where the tall figure 
of his ex-adjutant had disappeared among the trees. 
He heard the low-toned, pleasant chat of the ladies 
in the sitting-room, but he was in no mood to join 
them. He wished that Armitage had not gone, he 
felt such strength and comparative hope in his 
presence ; but it was plain that even Armitage was 
confounded by the array of facts and circumstances 
that he had so painfully and slowly communicated 
to him. The colonel went drearily back to the room 
in which they had had their long conference. His 
wife and sister both hailed him as he passed the sit- 
ting-room door, and urged him to come and join 
them, — they wanted to ask about Captain Armi- 
tage, with whom it was evident they were much 
impressed ; but he answered that he had some let- 
ters to put away, and he must attend first to that. 

Among those that had been shown to the captain, 
mainly letters from Chester telling of the daily 
events at the fort and of his surveillance in the case 
of Jerrold, was one which Alice had brought him 
two days before. This had seemed to him of un- 


FROM THE RANKS 


137 


usual importance, as the others contained nothing 
that tended to throw new light on the case. It 
said, — 

“lam glad you have telegraphed for Armitage, 
and heartily approve your decision to lay the whole 
case before him. I presume he can reach you by 
Sunday, and that by Tuesday he will be here at the 
fort and ready to act. This will be a great relief to 
me, for, do what I could to allay it, there is no con- 
cealing the fact that much speculation and gossip is 
afloat concerning the events of that unhappy night. 
Leary declares he has been close-mouthed ; the other 
men on guard know absolutely nothing, and Cap- 
tain Wilton is the only officer to whom in my dis- 
tress of mind I betrayed that there was a mystery, 
and he has pledged himself to me to say nothing. 
Sloat, too, has an inkling, and a big one, that Jer- 
rold is the suspected party; but I never dreamed 
that anything had been seen or heard which in the 
faintest way connected your household with the 
matter, until yesterday. Then Leary admitted to 
me that two women, Mrs. Clifford’s cook and the 
doctor’s nursery-maid, had asked him whether it 
wasn’t Lieutenant Jerrold he fired at, and if it was 
true that he was trying to get in at the colonel’s 
back door. Twice Mrs. Clifford has asked me very 


138 


FROM THE RANKS 


significant questions, and three times to-day have 
officers made remarks to me that indicated their 
knowledge of the existence of some grave trouble. 
What makes matters worse is that Jerrold, when 
twitted about his absence from reveille, loses his 
temper and gets confused. There came near being 
a quarrel between him and Rollins at the mess a 
day or two since. He was saying that the reason 
he slept through roll-call was the fact that he had 
been kept up very late at the doctor’s party, and 
Rollins happened to come in at the moment and 
blurted out that if he was up at all it must have been 
after he left the party, and reminded him that he 
had left before midnight with Miss Renwick. This 
completely staggered Jerrold, who grew confused 
and tried to cover it with a display of anger. Now, 
two weeks ago Rollins was most friendly to Jerrold 
and stood up for him when I assailed him, but ever 
since that night he has had no word to say for him. 
When Jerrold played wrathful and accused Rollins 
of mixing in other men’s business, Rollins bounced 
up to him like a young bull-terrier, and I believe 
there would have been a row had not Sloat and 
Hoyt promptly interfered. Jerrold apologized, and 
Rollins accepted the apology, but has avoided him 
ever since, — won’t speak of him to me, now that I 


FROM THE RANKS 


139 

have reason to draw him out. As soon as Armi- 
tage gets here he can do what I cannot, — find out 
just what and who is suspected and talked about. 

‘‘Mr. Jerrold, of course, avoids me. He has 
been attending strictly to his duty, and is evidently 
confounded that I did not press the matter of his 
going to town as he did the day I forbade it. Mr. 
Hoyt’s being too late to see him personally gave me 
sufficient grounds on which to excuse it; but he 
seems to understand that something is impending, 
and is looking nervous and harassed. He has not 
renewed his request for leave of absence to run 
down to Sablon. I told him curtly it was out of the 
question.” 

The colonel took a few strides up and down the 
room. It had come, then. The good name of those 
he loved was already besmirched by garrison gos- 
sip, and he knew that nothing but heroic measures 
could ever silence scandal. Impulse and the innate 
sense of “ fight” urged him to go at once to the 
scene, leaving his wife and her fair daughter here 
under his sister’s roof ; but Armitage and common 
sense said no. He had placed his burden on those 
broad gray shoulders, and, though ill content to 
wait, he felt that he was bound. Stowing away the 
letters, too nervous to sleep, too worried to talk, he 


140 FROM THE RANKS 

stole from the cottage, and, with clasped hands be- 
hind his back, with low-bowed head he strolled 
forth into the broad vista of moonlit road. 

There were bright lights still burning at the 
hotel, and gay voices came floating through the 
summer air. The piano, too, was thrumming a 
waltz in the parlor, and two or three couples were 
throwing embracing, slowly-twirling shadows on 
the windows. Over in the bar- and billiard-rooms 
the click of the balls and the refreshing rattle of 
cracked ice told suggestively of the occupation of 
the inmates. Keeping on beyond these distracting 
sounds, he slowly climbed a long, gradual ascent to 
the “ bench, ,, or plateau above the wooded point on 
which were grouped the glistening white buildings 
of the pretty summer resort, and, having reached the 
crest, turned silently to gaze at the beauty of the 
scene, — at the broad, flawless bosom of a summer 
lake all sheen and silver from the unclouded moon. 
Far to the southeast it wound among the bold and 
rock-ribbed bluffs rising from the forest growth at 
their base to shorn and rounded summits. Miles 
away to the southward twinkled the lights of one 
busy little town ; others gleamed and sparkled over 
towards the northern shore, close under the pole- 
star; while directly opposite frowned a massive 


FROM THE RANKS 


141 

wall of palisaded rock, that threw, deep and heavy 
and far from shore, its long reflection in the mirror 
of water. There was not a breath of air stirring in 
the heavens, not a ripple on the face of the waters 
beneath, save where, close under the bold headland 
down on the other side, the signal-lights, white and 
crimson and green, creeping slowly along in the 
shadows, revealed one of the packets ploughing her 
steady way to the great marts below. Nearer at 
hand, just shaving the long strip of sandy, wooded 
point that jutted far out into the lake, a broad raft 
of timber, pushed by a hard-working, black-fun- 
nelled stern-wheeler, was slowly forging its way 
to the outlet of the lake, its shadowy edge sprinkled 
here and there with little sparks of lurid red, — the 
pilot-lights that gave warning of its slow and silent 
coming. Far down along the southern shore, un- 
der that black bluff -line, close to the silver water- 
edge, a glowing meteor seemed whirling through 
the night, and the low, distant rumble told of the 
“Atlantic Express” thundering on its journey. 
Here, along with him on the level plateau, were 
other roomy cottages, some dark, some still sending 
forth a guiding ray; while long lines of white- 
washed fence gleamed ghostly in the moonlight and 
were finally lost in the shadow of the great bluff 


142 


FROM THE RANKS 


that abruptly shut in the entire point and plateau 
and shut out all further sight of lake or land in that 
direction. Far beneath he could hear the soft plash 
upon the sandy shore of the little wavelets that 
came sweeping in the wake of the raft-boat and 
spending their tiny strength upon the strand; far 
down on the hotel point he could still hear the soft 
melody of the waltz ; he remembered how the band 
used to play that same air, and wondered why it 
was he used to like it; it jarred him now. Pres- 
ently the distant crack of a whip and the low rum- 
ble of wheels were heard : the omnibus coming back 
from the station with passengers from the night 
train. He was in no mood to see any one. He 
turned away and walked northward along the edge 
of the bench, towards the deep shadow of the great 
shoulder of the bluff, and presently he came to a 
long flight of wooden stairs, leading from the pla- 
teau down to the hotel, and here he stopped and 
seated himself awhile. He did not want to go home 
yet. He wanted to be by himself, — to think and 
brood over his trouble. He saw the omnibus go 
round the bend and roll up to the hotel door-way 
with its load of pleasure-seekers, and heard the 
joyous welcome with which some of their number 
were received by waiting friends, but life had little 


FROM THE RANKS 


143 


of joy to him this night. He longed to go away, — 
anywhere, anywhere, could he only leave this 
haunting misery behind. He was so proud of his 
regiment ; he had been so happy in bringing home 
to it his accomplished and gracious wife; he had 
been so joyous in planning for the lovely times 
Alice was to have, — the social successes, the girlish 
triumphs, the garrison gayeties of which she was 
to be the queen, — and now, so very, very soon, all 
had turned to ashes and desolation! She was so 
beautiful, so sweet, winning, graceful. Oh, God! 
could it be that one so gifted could possibly be so 
base ? He rose in nervous misery and clinched his 
hands high in air, then sat down again with hiding, 
hopeless face, rocking to and fro as sways a man 
in mortal pain. It was long before he rallied and 
again wearily arose. Most of the lights were gone ; 
silence had settled down upon the sleeping point; 
he was chilled with the night air and the dew, and 
stiff and heavy as he tried to walk. Down at the 
foot of the stairs he could see the night-watchman 
making his rounds. He did not want to explain 
matters and talk with him: he would go around. 
There was a steep pathway down into the ravine 
that gave into the lake just beyond his sister’s cot- 
tage, and this he sought and followed, moving 


144 


FROM THE RANKS 


slowly and painfully, but finally reaching the grassy 
level of the pathway that connected the cottages 
with the wood-road up the bluff. Trees and shrub- 
bery were thick on both sides, and the path was 
shaded. He turned to his right, and came down 
until once more he was in sight of the white walls 
of the hotel standing out there on the point, until 
close at hand he could see the light of his own cot- 
tage glimmering like faithful beacon through the 
trees ; and then he stopped short. 

A tall, slender figure — a man in dark, snug-fit- 
ting clothing — was creeping stealthily up to the 
cottage window. 

The colonel held his breath : his heart thumped 
violently : he waited, — watched. He saw the dark 
figure reach the blinds ; he saw them slowly, softly 
turned, and the faint light gleaming from within; 
he saw the figure peering in between the slats, and 
then — God ! was it possible ? — a low voice, a man’s 
voice, whispering or hoarsely murmuring a name : 
he heard a sudden movement within the room, as 
though the occupant had heard and were replying, 
“ Coming.” His blood froze : it was not Alice’s 
room: it was his, — his and hers — his wife’s, — 
and that was surely her step approaching the win- 
dow. Yes, the blind was quickly opened. A white- 


FROM THE RANKS 


145 


robed figure stood at the casement. He could see, 
hear, bear no more : with one mad rush he sprang 
from his lair and hurled himself upon the shadowy 
stranger. 

“ You hound ! who are you?” 

But ’twas no shadow that he grasped. A mus- 
cular arm was round him in a trice, a brawny hand 
at his throat, a twisting, sinewy leg was curled in 
his, and he went reeling back upon the springy turf, 
stunned and wellnigh breathless. 

When he could regain his feet and reach the case- 
ment the stranger had vanished; but Mrs. May- 
nard lay there on the floor within, a white and 
senseless heap. 


10 


CHAPTER X 


Perhaps it was as well for all parties that Frank 
Armitage concluded that he must have another 
whiff of tobacco that night as an incentive to the 
“ think” he had promised himself. He had strolled 
through the park to the grove of trees out on the 
point and seated himself in the shadows. Here his 
reflections were speedily interrupted by the ani- 
mated flirtations of a few couples who, tiring of the 
dance, came out into the coolness of the night and 
the seclusion of the grove, where their murmured 
words and soft laughter soon gave the captain’s 
nerves a strain they could not bear. He broke 
cover and betook himself to the very edge of the 
stone retaining wall out on the point. 

He wanted to think calmly and dispassionately; 
he meant to weigh all he had read and heard and 
form his estimate of the gravity of the case before 
going to bed. He meant to be impartial, — to judge 
her as he would judge any other woman so com- 
promised; but for the life of him he could not. 
He bore with him the mute image of her lovely 
face, with its clear, truthful, trustful dark eyes. 

146 


FROM THE RANKS 


147 

He saw her as she stood before him on the little 
porch when they shook hands on their laughing — 
or his laughing — compact, for she would not laugh. 
How perfect she was ! — her radiant beauty, her up- 
lifted eyes, so full of their self-reproach and regret 
at the speech she had made at his expense! How 
exquisite was the grace of her slender, rounded 
form as she stood there before him, one slim hand 
half shyly extended to meet the cordial clasp of his 
own! He wanted to judge and be just; but that 
image dismayed him. How could he look on this 
picture and then — on that, — the one portrayed in 
the chain of circumstantial evidence which the colo- 
nel had laid before him? It was monstrous! it 
was treason to womanhood ! One look in her eyes, 
superb in their innocence, was too much for his 
determined impartiality. Armitage gave himself 
a mental kick for what he termed his imbecility, 
and went back to the hotel. 

“ It's no use/’ he muttered. “ Fm a slave of the 
weed, and can't be philosophic without my pipe.” 

Up to his little box of a room he climbed, found 
his pipe-case and tobacco-pouch, and in five min- 
utes was strolling out to the point once more, when 
he came suddenly upon the night-watchman, — a 
personage of whose functions and authority he was 


148 


FROM THE RANKS 


entirely ignorant. The man eyed him narrowly, 
and essayed to speak. Not knowing him, and de- 
siring to be alone, Armitage pushed past, and was 
surprised to find that a hand was on his shoulder 
and the man at his side before he had gone a rod. 

“ Beg pardon, sir,” said the watchman, gruffly, 
“ but I don’t know you. Are you stopping at the 
hotel?” 

“I am,” said Armitage, coolly, taking his pipe 
from his lips and blowing a cloud over his other 
shoulder. “ And who may you be?” 

“ I am the watchman ; and I do not remember 
seeing you come to-day.” 

“ Nevertheless I did.” 

“ On what train, sir ?” 

“ This afternoon’s up-train.” 

“You certainly were not on the omnibus when it 
got here.” 

“ Very true. I walked over from beyond the 
school-house.” 

“ You must excuse me, sir. I did not think of 
that ; and the manager requires me to know every- 
body. Is this Major Armitage?” 

“ Armitage is my name, but I’m not a major.” 

“Yes, sir; I’m glad to be set right. And the 
other gentleman, — him as was inquiring for Colo- 


FROM THE RANKS 


149 


nel Maynard to-night? He’s in the army, too, but 
his name don’t seem to be on the book. He only 
came in on the late train.” 

“ Another man to see Colonel Maynard ?” asked 
the captain, with sudden interest. “ Just come in, 
you say. I’m sure I’ve no idea. What was he 
like?” 

“ I don’t know, sir. At first I thought you was 
him. The driver told me he brought a gentleman 
over who asked some questions about Colonel May- 
nard, but he didn’t get aboard at the depot, and he 
didn’t come down to the hotel, — got off somewhere 
up there on the bench, and Jim didn’t see him.” 

“ Where’s Jim?” said Armitage. “ Come with 
me, watchman. I want to interview him.” 

Together they walked over to the barn, which 
the driver was just locking up after making every- 
thing secure for the night. 

“ Who was it inquiring for Colonel Maynard ?” 
asked Armitage. 

“ I don’t know, sir,” was the slow answer. 
“ There was a man got aboard as I was coming 
across the common in the village at the station. 
There were several passengers from the train, and 
some baggage: so he may have started ahead on 
foot but afterwards concluded to ride. As soon as 


FROM THE RANKS 


150 

I saw him get in I reined up and asked where he 
was going; he had no baggage nor nuthin’, and 
my orders are not to haul anybody except people 
of the hotel : so he came right forward through the 
’bus and took the seat behind me and said ’twas all 
right, he was going to the hotel ; and he passed up 
a half-dollar. I told him that I couldn’t take the 
money, — that ’bus-fares were paid at the office, — 
and drove ahead. Then he handed me a cigar, and 
pretty soon he asked me if there were many people, 
and who had the cottages ; and when I told him, he 
asked which was Colonel Maynard’s, but he didn’t 
say he knew him, and the next thing I knew was 
when we got here to the hotel he wasn’t in the ’bus. 
He must have stepped back through all those pas- 
sengers and slipped off up there on the bench. He 
was in it when we passed the little brown church 
up on the hill.” 

“ What was he like ?” 

“ I couldn’t see him plain. He stepped out from 
behind a tree as we drove through the common, and 
came right into the ’bus. It was dark in there, and 
all I know is he was tall and had on dark clothes. 
Some of the people inside must have seen him bet- 
ter ; but they are all gone to bed, I suppose.” 

*1 will go over to the hotel and inquire, any- 


FROM THE RANKS 


151 

way,” said Armitage, and did so. The lights were 
turned down, and no one was there, but he could 
hear voices chatting in quiet tones on the broad, 
sheltered veranda without, and, going thither, 
found three or four men enjoying a quiet smoke. 
Armitage was a man of action. He stepped at once 
to the group : 

“ Pardon me, gentlemen, but did any of you 
come over in the omnibus from the station to- 
night?” 

“ I did, sir,” replied one of the party, removing 
his cigar and twitching off the ashes with his little 
finger, then looking up with the air of a man ex- 
pectant of question. 

“ The watchman tells me a man came over who 
was making inquiries for Colonel Maynard. May 
I ask if you saw or heard of such a person?” 

“ A gentleman got in soon after we left the sta- 
tion, and when the driver hailed him he went for- 
ward and took a seat near him. They had some 
conversation, but I did not hear it. I only know 
that he got out again a little while before we 
reached the hotel.” 

“ Could you see him, and describe him ? I am 
a friend of Colonel Maynard's, an officer of his 
regiment, — which will account for my inquiry.” 


FROM THE RANKS 


152 

“ Well, yes, sir. I noticed he was very tall and 
slim, was dressed in dark clothes, and wore a dark 
slouched hat well down over his forehead. He 
was what I would call a military-looking man, for 
I noticed his walk as he got off ; but he wore big 
spectacles, — blue or brown glass, I should say, — 
and had a heavy beard.” 

“ Which way did he go when he left the ’bus ?” 

“ He walked northward along the road at the 
edge of the bluff, right up towards the cottages on 
the upper level,” was the answer. 

Armitage thanked him for his courtesy, ex- 
plained that he had left the colonel only a short time 
before and that he was then expecting no visitor, 
and if one had come it was perhaps necessary that 
he should be hunted up and brought to the hotel. 
Then he left the porch and walked hurriedly 
through the park towards its northernmost limit. 
There to his left stood the broad roadway along 
which, nestling under shelter of the bluff, was 
ranged the line of cottages, some two-storied, with 
balconies and verandas, others low, single-storied 
affairs with a broad hall-way in the middle of each 
and rooms on both north and south sides. Farther- 
most north on the row, almost hidden in the trees, 
and nearest the ravine, stood Aunt Grace’s cottage, 


FROM THE RANKS 


153 

where were domiciled the colonel’s household. It 
was in the big bay-windowed north room that he 
and the colonel had had their long conference 
earlier in the evening. The south room, nearly op- 
posite, was used as their parlor and sitting-room. 
Aunt Grace and Miss Renwick slept in the little 
front rooms north and south of the hall-way, and 
the lights in their rooms were extinguished; so; 
too, was that in the parlor. All was darkness on 
the south and east. All was silence and peace as 
Armitage approached; but just as he reached the 
shadow of the stunted oak-tree growing in front 
of the house his ears were startled by an agonized 
cry, a woman’s half-stifled shriek. He bounded up 
the steps, seized the knob of the door and threw his 
weight against it. It was firmly bolted within. 
Loud he thundered on the panels. “ ’Tis I, — Armi- 
tage !” he called. He heard the quick patter of little 
feet; the bolt was slid, and he rushed in, almost 
stumbling against a trembling, terror-stricken, yet 
welcoming white-robed form, — Alice Renwick, 
barefooted, with her glorious wealth of hair tum- 
bling in dark luxuriance all down over the dainty 
night-dress, — Alice Renwick, with pallid face and 
wild imploring eyes. 

“ What is wrong?” he asked, in haste. 


154 


FROM THE RANKS 


“ It’s mother, — her room, — and it’s locked, and 
she won’t answer,” was the gasping reply, 

Armitage sprang to the rear of the hall, leaned 
one second against the opposite wall, sent his foot 
with mighty impulse and muscled impact against 
the opposing lock, and the door flew open with a 
crash. The next instant Alice was bending over 
her senseless mother, and the captain was giving a 
hand in much bewilderment to the panting colonel, 
who was striving to clamber in at the window. 
The ministrations of Aunt Grace and Alice were 
speedily sufficient to restore Mrs. Maynard. A 
teaspoonful of brandy administered by the colonel’s 
trembling hand helped matters materially. Then he 
turned to Armitage. 

“ Come outside,” he said. 

Once again in the moonlight the two men faced 
each other. 

“ Armitage, can you get a horse?” 

“ Certainly. What then?” 

“ Go to the station, get men, if possible, and head 
this fellow off. He was here again to-night, and 
it was not Alice he called, but my — but Mrs. May- 
nard. I saw him ; I grappled with him right here 
at the bay-window where she met him, and he 
hurled me to grass as though I’d been a child. I 


FROM THE RANKS 


155 

want a horse! I want that man to-night. How 
did he get away from Sibley ?” 

“ Do you mean — do you think it was Jer- 
rold ?” 

“ Good God, yes ! Who else could it be ? Dis- 
guised, of course, and bearded ; but the figure, the 
carriage, were just the same, and he came to this 
window, — to her window, — and called, and she 
answered. My God, Armitage, think of it!” 

“ Come with me, colonel. You are all un- 
strung,” was the captain’s answer as he led his 
broken friend away. At the front door he stopped 
one moment, then ran up the steps and into the 
hall, where he tapped lightly at the casement. 

“ What is it?” was the low response from an 
invisible source. 

“ Miss Alice?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ The watchman is here now. I will send him 
around to the window to keep guard until our re- 
turn. The colonel is a little upset by the shock, and 
I want to attend to him. We are going to the hotel 
a moment before I bring him home. You are not 
afraid to have him leave you ?” 

“ Not now, captain.” 

“ Is Mrs. Maynard better ?” 


FROM THE RANKS 


156 

“ Yes. She hardly seems to know what has hap- 
pened. Indeed, none of us do. What was it ?” 

“ A tramp, looking for something to eat, tried 
to open the blinds, and the colonel was out here 
and made a jump at him. They had a scuffle in 
the shrubbery, and the tramp got away. It fright- 
ened your mother : that’s the sum of it, I think.” 

“ Is papa hurt ?” 

“ No : a little bruised and shaken, and mad as a 
hornet. I think perhaps I’ll get him quieted down 
and sleepy in a few minutes, if you and Mrs. May- 
nard will be content to let him stay with me. I can 
talk almost any man drowsy.” 

“ Mamma seems to worry for fear he is hurt.” 

“ Assure her solemnly that he hasn’t a scratch. 
He is simply fighting mad, and I’m going to try and 
find the tramp. Does Mrs. Maynard remember 
how he looked ?” 

“ She could not see the face at all. She heard 
some one at the shutters, and a voice, and supposed 
of course it was papa, and threw open the blind.” 

“ Oh, I see. That’s all, Miss Alice. I’ll go back 
to the colonel. Good-night !” And Armitage went 
forth with a lighter step. 

“ One sensation knocked endwise, colonel. I 
have it on the best of authority that Mrs. Maynard 


FROM THE RANKS 


157 


so fearlessly went to the window in answer to the 
voice and noise at the shutters simply because she 
knew you were out there somewhere and she sup- 
posed it was you. How simple these mysteries be- 
come when a little daylight is let in on them, after 
all ! Come, I’m going to take you over to my room 
for a stiff glass of grog, and then after his tramp- 
ship while you go back to bed.” 

“ Armitage, you seem to make very light of this 
night’s doings. What is easier than to connect it 
all with the trouble at Sibley?” 

“ Nothing was ever more easily explained than 
this thing, colonel, and all I want now is a chance 
to get that tramp. Then I’ll go to Sibley; and 
’pon my word I believe that mystery can be made 
as commonplace a piece of petty larceny as this was 
of vagrancy. Come.” 

But when Armitage left the colonel at a later 
hour and sought his own room for a brief rest he 
was in no such buoyant mood. A night-search for 
a tramp in the dense thickets among the bluffs and 
woods of Sablon could hardly be successful. It 
was useless to make the attempt. He slept but little 
during the cool August night, and early in the 
morning mounted a horse and trotted over to the 
railway-station. 


158 


FROM THE RANKS 


“ Has any train gone northward since last 
night ?” he inquired at the office. 

“ None that stop here,” was the answer. “ The 
first train up comes along at 11.56.” 

“ I want to send a despatch to Fort Sibley and 
get an answer without delay. Can you work it for 
me?” 

The agent nodded, and pushed over a package of 
blanks. Armitage wrote rapidly as follws : 

“ Captain Chester, 

“ Commanding Fort Sibley. 

“ Is Jerrold there? Tell him I will arrive Tues- 
day. Answer. 

“ F. Armitage.” 

It was along towards nine o’clock when the re- 
turn message came clicking in on the wires, was 
written out, and handed to the tall soldier with the 
tired blue eyes. 

He read, started, crushed the paper in his hand, 
and turned away. The answer was significant : 

“ Lieutenant Jerrold left Sibley yesterday after- 
noon. Not yet returned. Absent without leave 
this morning. 

“ Chester.” 


CHAPTER XI 

Nature never vouchsafed to wearied man a 
lovelier day of rest than the still Sunday on which 
Frank Armitage rode slowly back from the station. 
The soft, mellow tone of the church-bell, tolling the 
summons for morning service, floated out from the 
brown tower, and was echoed back from the rocky 
cliff glistening in the August sunshine on the 
northern bluff. Groups of villagers hung about the 
steps of the little sanctuary and gazed with mild 
curiosity at the arriving parties from the cottages 
and the hotel. The big red omnibus came up with 
a load of worshippers, and farther away, down the 
vista of the road, Armitage could see others on 
foot and in carriages, all wending their way to 
church. He was in no mood to meet them. The 
story that he had been out pursuing a tramp during 
the night was pretty thoroughly circulated by this 
time, he felt assured, and every one would connect 
his early ride to the station, in some way, with the 
adventure that the grooms, hostlers, cooks, and 
kitchen-maids had all been dilating upon ever since 
daybreak. He dreaded to meet the curious glances 

i59 


i6o 


FROM THE RANKS 


of the women, and the questions of the few men 
whom he had taken so far into his confidence as to 
ask about the mysterious person who came over in 
the stage with them. He reined up his horse, and 
then, seeing a little pathway leading into the thick 
wood to his right, he turned in thither and followed 
it some fifty yards among bordering treasures of 
coreopsis and golden-rod and wild luxuriance of 
vine and foliage. Dismounting in the shade, he 
threw the reins over his arm and let his horse crop 
the juicy grasses, while he seated himself on a little 
stump and fell to thinking again. He could hear 
the reverent voices of one or two visitors strolling 
about among the peaceful, flower-decked graves 
behind the little church and only a short stone’s- 
throw away through the shrubbery. He could hear 
the low, solemn voluntary of the organ, and pres- 
ently the glad outburst of young voices in the open- 
ing hymn, but he knew that belated ones would 
still be coming to church, and he would not come 
forth from his covert until all were out of the way. 
Then, too, he was glad of a little longer time to 
think : he did not want to tell the colonel the result 
of his morning investigations. 

To begin with: the watchman, the driver, and 
the two men whom he had questioned were all of an 


FROM THE RANKS 


161 


opinion as to the character of the stranger : “ he 
was a military man.” The passengers described 
his voice as that of a man of education and social 
position; the driver and passengers declared his 
walk and carriage to be that of a soldier : he was 
taller, they said, than the tall, stalwart Saxon cap- 
tain, but by no means so heavily built. As to age, 
they could not tell : his beard was black and curly, 
— no gray hairs; his movements were quick and 
elastic; but his eyes were hidden by those colored 
glasses, and his forehead by the slouch of that 
broad-brimmed felt hat. 

At the station, while awaiting the answer to his 
despatch, Armitage had questioned the agent as to 
whether any man of that description had arrived 
by the night train from the north. He had seen 
none, he said, but there was Larsen over at the post- 
office store, who came down on that train ; perhaps 
he could tell. Oddly enough, Mr. Larsen recalled 
just such a party, — tall, slim, dark, dark-bearded, 
with blue glasses and dark hat and clothes, — but 
he was bound for Lakeville, the station beyond, and 
he remained in the car when he, Larsen, got off. 
Larsen remembered the man well, because he sat in 
the rear corner of the smoker and had nothing to 
say to anybody, but kept reading a newspaper; 


ii 


FROM THE RANKS 


162 

and the way he came to take note of him was that 
while standing with two friends at that end of the 
car they happened to be right around the man. The 
Saturday evening train from the city is always 
crowded with people from the river towns who 
have been up to market or the matinees , and even the 
smoker was filled with standing men until they got 
some thirty miles down. Larsen wanted to light 
a fresh cigar, and offered one to each of his friends : 
then it was found they had no matches, and one of 
them, who had been drinking a little and felt jovial, 
turned to the dark stranger and asked him for a 
light, and the man, without speaking, handed out 
a little silver match-box. It was just then that the 
conductor came along, and Larsen saw his ticket. 
It was a “ round trip” to Lakeville : he was evi- 
dently going there for a visit, and therefore, said 
Larsen, he didn’t get off at Sablon Station, which 
was six miles above. 

But Armitage knew better. It was evident that 
he had quietly slipped out on the platform of the 
car after the regular passengers had got out of the 
way, and let himself off into the darkness on the 
side opposite the station. Thence he had an open 
and unimpeded walk of a few hundred yards until 
he reached the common, and then, when overtaken 


FROM THE RANKS 163 

by the hotel omnibus, he could jump aboard and 
ride. There was only one road, only one way over 
to the hotel, and he could not miss it. There was 
no doubt now that, whoever he was, the night visi- 
tor had come down on the evening train from the 
city; and his return ticket would indicate that he 
meant to go back the way he came. It was half- 
past ten when that train arrived. It was nearly 
midnight when the man appeared at the cottage 
window. It was after two when Armitage gave 
up the search and went to bed. It was possible for 
the man to have walked to Lakeville, six miles 
south, and reached the station there in abundant 
time to take the up-train which passed Sablon, 
without stopping, a little before daybreak. If he 
took that train, and if he was Jerrold, he would 
have been in the city before seven, and could have 
been at Fort Sibley before or by eight o’clock. But 
Chester’s despatch showed clearly that at 8.30 — 
the hour for signing the company morning reports 
— Mr. Jerrold was not at his post. Was he still in 
the neighborhood and waiting for the noon train? 
If so, could he be confronted on the cars and ac- 
cused of his crime? He looked at his watch; it 
was nearly eleven, and he must push on to the hotel 
before that hour, report to the colonel, then hasten 


164 


FROM THE RANKS 


back to the station. He sprang to his feet, and was 
just about to mount, when a vision of white and 
scarlet came suddenly into view. There, within 
twenty feet of him, making her dainty way through 
the shrubbery from the direction of the church, 
sunshine and shadow alternately flitting across her 
lovely face and form, Alice Renwick stepped forth 
into the pathway, and, shading her eyes with her 
hand, gazed along the leafy lane towards the road, 
as though expectant of another’s coming. Then, 
attracted by the beauty of the golden-rod, she bent 
and busied herself with gathering in the yellow 
sprays. Armitage, with one foot in the stirrup, 
stood stock-still, half in surprise, half stunned by 
a sudden and painful thought. Could it be that she 
was there in hopes of meeting — any one? 

He retook his foot from the stirrup, and, relax- 
ing the rein, still stood gazing at her over his 
horse’s back. That placid quadruped, whose years 
had been spent in these pleasant by-ways and were 
too many to warrant an exhibition of coltish sur- 
prise, promptly lowered his head and resumed his 
occupation of grass-nibbling, making a little 
crunching noise which Miss Renwick might have 
heard, but apparently did not. She was singing 
very softly to herself, — 


FROM THE RANKS 


165 

“ Daisy, tell my fortune, pray : 

He loves me not, — he loves me.” 

And still Armitage stood and gazed, while she, 
absorbed in her pleasant task, still pulled and 
plucked at the golden-rod. In all his life no 
“ vision of fair women” had been to him fair and 
sacred and exquisite as this. Down to the tip of her 
arched and slender foot, peeping from beneath the 
broidered hem of her snowy skirt, she stood the 
lady born and bred, and his eyes looked on and wor- 
shipped her, — worshipped, yet questioned, Why 
came she here? Absorbed, he released his hold on 
the rein, and Dobbin, nothing loath, reached with 
his long, lean neck for further herbage, and stepped 
in among the trees. Still stood his negligent mas- 
ter, fascinated in his study of the lovely, graceful 
girl. Again she raised her head and looked north- 
ward along the winding, shaded wood-path. A 
few yards away were other great clusters of the 
wild flowers she loved, more sun-kissed golden-rod, 
and, with a little murmur of delight, gathering her 
dainty skirts in one hand, she flitted up the path- 
way like an unconscious humming-bird garnering 
the sweets from every blossom. A little farther on 
the pathway bent among the trees, and she would 
be hidden from his sight; but still he stood and 


1 66 


FROM THE RANKS 


studied her every movement, drank in the soft, 
cooing melody of her voice as she sang, and then, 
there came a sweet, solemn train from the brown, 
sunlit walls just visible through the trees, and 
reverent voices and the resonant chords of the 
organ thrilled through the listening woods the 
glorious anthem of the church militant. 

At the first notes she lifted up her queenly head 
and stood, listening and appreciative. Then he 
saw her rounded throat swelling like a bird’s, and 
the rich, full tones of her voice rang out through 
the welcoming sunshine, and the fluttering wrens, 
and proud red-breasted robins, and rival song- 
queens, the brown-winged thrushes, — even the im- 
pudent shrieking jays, — seemed to hush and listen. 
Dobbin, fairly astonished, lifted up his hollow-eyed 
head and looked amazedly at the white songstress 
whose scarlet sash and neck-ribbons gleamed in 
such vivid contrast to the foliage about her. A 
wondering little “ cotton-tail” rabbit, shy and wild 
as a hawk, came darting through the bushes into 
the sunshiny patchwork on the path, and then, up* 
tilted and with quivering ears and nostrils and 
wide-staring eyes, stood paralyzed with helpless 
amaze, ignoring the tall man in gray as did the 
singer herself. Richer, rounder, fuller grew the 


FROM THE RANKS 167 

melody, as, abandoning herself to the impulse of 
the sacred hour, she joined with all her girlish heart 
in the words of praise and thanksgiving, — in the 
glad and triumphant chorus of the Te Deum. 
From beginning to end she sang, now ringing and 
exultant, now soft and plaintive, following the 
solemn words of the ritual, — sweet and low and 
suppliant in the petition, “ We therefore pray Thee 
help Thy servants whom Thou hast redeemed with 
Thy precious blood,” confident and exulting in the 
declaration, “ Thou art the King of Glory, O 
Christ,” and then rich with fearless trust and faith 
in the thrilling climax, “ Let me never be con- 
founded.” Armitage listened as one in a trance. 
From the depth of her heart the girl had joined her 
glorious voice to the chorus of praise and adora- 
tion, and now that all was stilled once more her 
head had fallen forward on her bosom, her hands, 
laden with golden-rod, were joined together: it 
seemed as though she were lost in prayer. 

And this was the girl, this the pure, God-wor- 
shipping, God-fearing woman, who for one black 
instant he had dared to fancy had come here ex- 
pectant of a meeting with the man whose aim had 
been frustrated but the night before! He could 
have thrown himself at her feet and implored her 


1 68 


FROM THE RANKS 


pardon. He did step forth, and then, hat in hand, 
baring his proud Saxon head as his forefathers 
would have uncovered to their monarch, he waited 
until she lifted up her eyes and saw him, and knew 
by the look in his frank face that he had stood 
by, a mute listener to her unstudied devotions. A 
lovely flush rose to her very temples, and her eyes 
drooped their pallid lids until the long lashes swept 
the crimson of her cheeks. 

“ Have you been here, captain ? I never saw 
you,” was her fluttering question. 

“ I rode in here on my way back from the sta- 
tion, not caring to meet all the good people going 
to church. I felt like an outcast.” 

“ I, too, am a recreant to-day. It is the first time 
I have missed service in a long while. Mamma 
felt too unstrung to come, and I had given up the 
idea, but both she and Aunt Grace urged me. I 
was too late for the omnibus, and walked up, and 
then I would not go in because service was begun, 
and I wanted to be home again before noon. I 
cannot bear to be late at church, or to leave it 
until everything is over, but I can’t be away from 
mother so long to-day. Shall we walk that way 
now ?” 

“ In a minute. I must find my horse. He is in 


FROM THE RANKS 169 

here somewhere. Tell me how the colonel is feel- 
ing, and Mrs. Maynard.” 

“ Both very nervous and worried, though I see 
nothing extraordinary in the adventure. We read 
of poor hungry tramps everywhere, and they rarely 
do harm.” 

“ I wonder a little at your venturing here in the 
wood-paths, after what occurred last night.” 

“ Why, Captain Armitage, no one would harm 
me here, so close to the church. Indeed, I never 
thought of such a thing until you mentioned it. 
Did you discover anything about the man ?” 

“ Nothing definite; but I must be at the station 
again to meet the up-train, and have to see the colo- 
nel meantime. Let me find Dobbin, or whatever 
they call this venerable relic I’m riding, and then 
I’ll escort you home.” 

But Dobbin had strayed deeper into the wood. 
It was some minutes before the captain could find 
and catch him. The rich melody of sacred music 
was again thrilling through the perfumed woods, 
the glad sunshine was pouring its warmth and 
blessing over all the earth, glinting on bluff and 
brake and palisaded cliff, the birds were all sing- 
ing their rivalling psaltery, and Nature seemed 
pouring forth its homage to the Creator and Pre- 


170 


FROM THE RANKS 


server of all on this His holy day, when Frank 
Armitage once more reached the bowered lane 
where, fairest, sweetest sight of all, his lady stood 
waiting him. She turned to him as she heard the 
hoof-beat on the turf, and smiled. 

“ Can we wait and hear that hymn through ?” 

“ Ay. Sing it.” 

She looked suddenly in his face. Something in 
the very tone in which he spoke startled her, — 
something deeper, more fervent, than she had ever 
heard before, — and the expression in the steady, 
deep-blue eyes was another revelation. Alice Ren- 
wick had a woman’s intuition, and yet she had not 
known this man a day. The color again mounted 
to her temples, and her eyes fell after one quick 
glance. 

“ I heard you joining in the Te Deum,” he urged. 
“ Sing once more: I love it. There, they are just 
beginning again. Do you know the words ?” 

She nodded, then raised her head, and her glad 
young voice carolled through the listening woods : 

“Holy, holy, holy! All 

Heaven’s triumphant choir shall sing, 

When the ransomed nations fall 
At the footstool of their King : 

Then shall saints and seraphim, 

Hearts and voices, swell one hymn 


FROM THE RANKS 


171 


Round the throne with full accord, 

Holy, holy, holy Lord !” 

There was silence when the music ceased. She 
had turned her face towards the church, and, as the 
melody died away in one prolonged, triumphant 
chord, she still stood in reverent attitude, as though 
listening for the words of benediction. He, too, 
was silent, but his eyes were fixed on her. He was 
thirty-five, she not twenty. He had lived his sol- 
dier life wifeless, but, like other soldiers, his heart 
had had its rubs and aches in the days gone by. 
Years before he had thought life a black void when 
the girl he fancied while yet he wore the Academic 
gray calmly told him she preferred another. Nor 
had the intervening years been devoid of their occa- 
sional yearnings for a mate of his own in the iso- 
lation of the frontier or the monotony of garrison 
life ; but flitting fancies had left no trace upon his 
strong heart. The love of his life only dawned 
upon him at this late day when he looked into her 
glorious eyes and his whole soul went out in pas- 
sionate worship of the fair girl whose presence 
made that sunlit lane a heaven. Were he to live 
a thousand years, no scene on earth could rival in 
his eyes the love-haunted woodland pathway 
wherein like forest queen she stood, the sunshine 


1 72 


FROM THE RANKS 


and leafy shadows dancing over her graceful form, 
the golden-rod enhancing her dark and glowing 
beauty, the sacred influences of the day throwing 
their mystic charm about her as though angels 
guarded and shielded her from harm. His life had 
reached its climax ; his fate was sealed ; his heart 
and soul were centred in one sweet girl, — and all 
in one brief hour in the woodland lane at Sablon. 

She could not fail to see the deep emotion in his 
eyes as at last she turned to break the silence. 

“ Shall we go?” she said, simply. 

“ It is time ; but I wish we could remain.” 

“ You do not go to church very often at Sibley, 
do you ?” 

“ I have not, heretofore ; but you would teach 
me to worship.” “ You have taught me,” he mut- 
tered below his breath, as he extended a hand to 
assist her down the sloping bank towards the 
avenue. She looked up quickly once more, pleased, 
yet shy, and shifted her great bunch of golden-rod 
so that she could lay her hand in his and lean upon 
its steady strength down the incline ; and so, hand 
in hand, with old Dobbin ambling placidly behind, 
they passed out from the shaded pathway to the 
glow and radiance of the sunlit road. 


CHAPTER XII 


“ Colonel Maynard, I admit everything you 
say as to the weight of the evidence,” said Frank 
Armitage, twenty minutes later, “ but it is my 
faith — understand me: my faith, I say — that she 
is utterly innocent. As for that damnable letter, 
I do not believe it was ever written to her. It is 
some other woman.” 

“What other is there, or was there?” was the 
colonel's simple reply. 

“ That is what I mean to find out. Will you 
have my baggage sent after me to-night? I am 
going at once to the station, and thence to Sibley. 
I will write you from there. If the midnight visi- 
tor should prove to have been Jerrold, he can be 
made to explain. I have always held him to be a 
conceited fop, but never either crack-brained or 
devoid of principle. There is no time for explana- 
tion now. Good-by; and keep a good lookout. 
That fellow may be here again.” 

And in an hour more Armitage was skimming 
along the winding river-side en route to Sibley. 
He had searched the train from pilot to rear plat- 

173 


174 


FROM THE RANKS 


form, and no man who in the faintest degree re- 
sembled Mr. Jerrold was on board. He had wired 
to Chester that he would reach the fort that even- 
ing, but would not resume duty for a few days. 
He made another search through the train as they 
neared the city, and still there was no one who in 
stature or appearance corresponded with the de- 
scriptions given him of the sinewy visitor. 

Late in the afternoon Chester received him as 
he alighted from the train at the little station under 
the cliff. It was a beautiful day, and numbers of 
people were driving or riding out to the fort, and 
the high bridge over the gorge was constantly re- 
sounding to the thunder of hoofs. Many others, 
too, had come out on the train; for the evening 
dress-parade always attracted a swarm of visitors. 
A corporal of the guard, with a couple of men, was 
on hand to keep vigilant eye on the arrivals and to 
persuade certain proscribed parties to re-enter the 
cars and go on, should they attempt to revisit the 
post, and the faces of these were lighted up as they 
saw their old adjutant; but none others of the 
garrison appeared. 

“ Let us wait a moment and get these people out 
of the way,” said Armitage. “ I want to talk with 
you. Is Jerrold back?” 


FROM THE RANKS 


175 


“ Yes. He came in just ten minutes after I tele- 
graphed to you, was present at inspection, and if 
it had not been for your despatch this morning I 
should not have known he had remained out of 
quarters. He appeared to resent my having been 
to his quarters, — calls it spying, I presume.” 

“ What permission had he to be away ?” 

“ I gave him leave to visit town on personal 
business yesterday afternoon. He merely asked 
to be away a few hours to meet friends in town, 
and Mr. Hall took tattoo roll-call for him. As I 
do not require any other officer to report the time 
of his return, I did not exact it of him; but of 
course no man can be away after midnight without 
special permission, and he was gone all night. 
What is it, Armitage ? Has he followed her down 
there ?” 

“ Somebody was there last night and capsized 
the colonel pretty much as he did you the night of 
the ladder episode,” said Armitage, coolly. 

“ By heaven ! and I let him go !” 

“ How do you know ’twas he ?” 

“ Who else could it be, Armitage?” 

“ That’s what the colonel asks ; but it isn’t clear 
to me yet awhile.” 

“ I wish it were less clear to me,” said Chester, 


176 


FROM THE RANKS 


gloomily. “ The worst is that the story is spread- 
ing like a pestilence all over the post. The women 
have got hold of it, and there is all manner of talk. 
I shouldn’t be surprised if Mrs. Hoyt had to be 
taken violently ill. She has written to invite Miss 
Renwick to visit her, as it is certain that Colonel 
and Mrs. Maynard cannot come, and Hoyt came to 
me in a horror of amaze yesterday to know if there 
were any truth in the rumor that I had caught a 
man coming out of Mrs. Maynard’s window the 
other night. I would tell him nothing, and he says 
the ladies declare they won’t go to the german if 
she does. Heavens! I’m thankful you are come. 
The thing has been driving me wild these last 
twelve hours. I wanted to go away myself. Is 
she coming up ?” 

“No, she isn’t; but let me say this, Chester: 
that whenever she is ready to return I shall be ready 
to escort her.” 

Chester looked at his friend in amazement, and 
without speaking. 

“ Yes, I see you are astonished, but you may as 
well understand the situation. I have heard all the 
colonel could tell, and have even seen the letter, and 
since she left here a mysterious stranger has ap- 
peared by night at Sablon, at the cottage window, 


FROM THE RANKS 


177 


though it happened to be her mother's this time, 
and I don’t believe Alice Renwick knows the first 
thing about it.” 

“ Armitage, are you in love ?” 

“ Chester, I am in my sound senses. Now come 
and show me the ladder, and where you found it, 
and tell me the whole story over again. I think 
it grows interesting. One moment: has he that 
picture yet?” 

“ I suppose so. I don’t know. In these last few 
days everybody is fighting shy of him. He thinks 
it is my doing, and looks black and sulky at me, 
but is too proud or too much afraid of consequences 
to ask the reason of the cold shoulders and averted 
looks. Gray has taken seven days’ leave and gone 
off with that little girl of his to place her with 
relatives in the East. He has heard the stories, 
and it is presumed that some of the women have 
told her. She was down sick here a day or two.” 

“ Well, now for the window and the ladder. I 
want to see the outside through your eyes, and then 
I will view the interior with my own. The colonel 
bids me do so.” 

Together they slowly climbed the long stairway 
leading up the face of the cliff. Chester stopped 
for a breathing-spell more than once. 


12 


178 


FROM THE RANKS 


“You’re all out of condition, man,” said the 
younger captain, pausing impatiently. “ What has 
undone you ?” 

“ This trouble, and nothing else. By gad ! it has 
unstrung the whole garrison, I believe. You never 
saw our people fall off so in their shooting. Of 
course we expected Jerrold to go to pieces, but 
nobody else.” 

“ There were others that seemed to fall away, 
too. Where was that cavalry-team that was ex- 
pected to take the skirmish medal away from us?” 

“ Sound as a dollar, every man, with the single 
exception of their big sergeant. I don’t like to 
make ugly comparisons to a man whom I believe to 
be more than half interested in a woman, but it 
makes me think of the old story about Medusa. 
One look at her face is too much for a man. That 
Sergeant McLeod went to grass the instant he 
caught sight of her, and never has picked up since.” 

“ Consider me considerably more than half in- 
terested in the woman in this case, Chester : make 
all the comparisons that you like, provided they 
illumine matters as you are doing now, and tell me 
more of this Sergeant McLeod. What do you 
mean by his catching sight of her and going to 
grass ?” 


FROM THE RANKS 


179 

“ I mean he fell flat on his face the moment he 
saw her, and hasn’t been in good form from that 
moment to this. The doctor says it’s heart-dis- 
ease.” 

“ That’s what the colonel says troubles Mrs. 
Maynard. She was senseless and almost pulseless 
some minutes last night. What manner of man is 
McLeod?” 

“ A tall, slim, dark-eyed, swarthy fellow, — a man 
with a history and a mystery, I judge.” 

“ A man with a history, — a mystery, — who is 
tall, slim, has dark eyes and swarthy complexion, 
and faints away at sight of Miss Renwick, might 
be said to possess peculiar characteristics, — family 
traits, some of them. Of course you’ve kept an eye 
on McLeod. Where is he ?” 

Chester stood leaning on the rail, breathing 
slowly and heavily. His eyes dilated as he gazed 
at Armitage, who was surveying him coolly, 
though the tone in which he spoke betrayed a new 
interest and a vivid one. 

“ I confess I never thought of him in connection 
with this affair,” said Chester. 

“ There’s the one essential point of difference 
between us,” was the reply. “ You go in on the 
supposition that there is only one solution to this 


i8o 


FROM THE RANKS 


thing, and that a woman must be dishonored to 
begin with. I believe there can be several solu- 
tions, and that there is only one thing in the lot 
that is at all impossible.” 

“ What’s that?” 

“ Miss Renwick’s knowledge of that night’s visi- 
tor, or of any other secret or sin. I mean to work 
other theories first ; and the McLeod trail is a good 
one to start on. Where can I get a look at him ?” 

“ Somewhere out in the Rockies by this time. 
He was ordered back to his troop five days ago, 
and they are out scouting at this moment, unless 
I’m vastly mistaken. You have seen the morning 
despatches ?” 

“About the Indians? Yes. Looks squally at 
the Spirit Rock reservation. Do you mean that 
McLeod is there ?” 

“ That’s where his troop ought to be by this time. 
There is too small a force on the trail now, and 
more will have to go if a big outbreak is to be pre- 
vented.” 

“ Then he has gone, and I cannot see him. Let 
me look at the window, then.” 

A few steps brought them to the terrace, and 
there, standing by the west wall and looking up at 
the closed slats of the dormer-window, Captain 


FROM THE RANKS 


181 


Chester retold the story of his night-adventure. 
Armitage listened attentively, asking few ques- 
tions. When it was finished, the latter turned and 
walked to the rear door, which opened on the ter- 
race. It was locked. 

“ The servants are having a holiday, I presume,” 
he said. “ So much the better. Ask the quarter- 
master for the key of the front door, and Fll go 
in while everybody is out looking at dress-parade. 
There goes first call now. Let your orderly bring 
it to me here, will you?” 

Ten minutes later, with beating heart, he stood 
and uncovered his handsome head and gazed 
silently, reverently around him. He was in her 
room. 

It was dainty as her own dainty self. The 
dressing-table, the windows, the pretty little white 
bed, the broad, inviting lounge, the work-table and 
basket, the very wash-stand, were all trimmed and 
decked alike, — white and yellow prevailing. White 
lace curtains draped the window on the west — that 
fateful window — and the two that opened out on 
the roof of the piazza. White lace curtains draped 
the bed, the dressing-table, and the wash-stand; 
white lace, or some equally flimsy and feminine 
material, hung about her book-shelves and work- 


FROM THE RANKS 


182 

table and over the lounge ; and bows of bright yel- 
low ribbon were everywhere, yellow pin-cushions 
and wall-pockets hung about the toilet-table, soft 
yellow rugs lay at the bed- and lounge-side, and a 
sunshiny tone was given to the whole apartment by 
the shades of yellow silk that hung close to the win- 
dows. 

On the wall were some choice etchings and a 
few foreign photographs. On the book-shelves 
were a few volumes of poetry, and the prose of 
George Eliot and our own Hawthorne. Hanging 
on pegs in the corner of the simple army room, 
covered by a curtain, were some heavy outer-gar- 
ments, — an ulster, a travelling coat and cape of 
English make, and one or two dresses that were 
apparently too thick to be used at this season of the 
year. He drew aside the curtain one moment, took 
a brief glance at the garments, raised the hem of a 
skirt to his lips, and turned quickly away. A door 
led from the room to the one behind it, — a spare 
bedroom, evidently, that was lighted only from the 
back of the house and had no side-window at all. 
Another door led to the hall, a broad, old-fashioned 
affair, and crossing this he stood in the big front 
room occupied by the colonel and his wife. This 
was furnished almost as luxuriously (from an 


FROM THE RANKS 183 

army point of view) as that of Miss Renwick, but 
not in white and yellow. Armitage smiled to see 
the evidences of Mrs. Maynard’s taste and handi- 
work on every side. In the years he had been the 
old soldier’s adjutant nothing could have exceeded 
the simplicity with which the colonel surrounded 
himself. Now it was something akin to Sybaritish 
elegance, thought the captain; but all the same 
he made his deliberate survey. There was the big 
dressing-table and bureau on which had stood that 
ravished picture, — that photograph of the girl he 
loved which others were able to speak of, and one 
man to appropriate feloniously, while yet he had 
never seen it. His impulse was to go to Jerrold’s 
quarters and take him by the throat and demand it 
of him; but what right had he? How knew he, 
even, that it was now there ? In view of the words 
that Chester had used towards him, Jerrold must 
know of the grievous danger in which he stood. 
That photograph would prove most damaging evi- 
dence if discovered. Very probably, after yielding 
to his vanity and showing it to Sloat he meant to 
get it back. Very certainly, after hearing Chester’s 
words he must have determined to lose no time in 
getting rid of it. He was no fool, if he was a cox- 
comb. 


184 


FROM THE RANKS 


Looking around the half-darkened room, Armi- 
tage lingered long over the photographs which 
hung about the dressing-table and over the man- 
tel, — several prettily framed duplicates of those 
already described as appearing in the album. One 
after another he took them in his hands, bore them 
to the window, and studied them attentively : some 
were not replaced without a long, lingering kiss. 
He had not ventured to disturb an item in her 
room. He would not touch the knob of a drawer 
or attempt to open anything she had closed, but 
here in quarters where his colonel could claim joint 
partnership he felt less sentiment or delicacy. He 
closed the hall door and tried the lock, turning 
the knob to and fro. Then he reopened the door 
and swung it upon its hinges. For a wonder, 
neither lock nor hinges creaked. The door worked 
smoothly and with little noise. Then he simi- 
larly tried the door of her room. It was in equally 
good working order, — quite free from the squeak 
and complaint with which quartermasters’ locks 
and hinges are apt to do their reluctant duty. 
The discovery pleased him. It was possible for 
one to open and close these portals noiselessly, 
if need be, and without disturbing sleepers in 
either room. Returning to the east chamber, he 


FROM THE RANKS 185 

opened the shades, so as to get more light, and 
his eye fell upon an old album lying on a little 
table that stood by the bedside. There was a 
night-lamp upon the table, too, — a little affair that 
could hold only a thimbleful of oil and was in- 
tended, evidently, to keep merely a faint glow 
during the night hours. Other volumes — a Bible, 
some devotional books, like “ The Changed Cross,” 
and a Hymnal or two — were also there; but the 
album stood most prominent, and Armitage curi- 
ously took it up and opened it. 

There were only half a dozen photographs in the 
affair. It was rather a case than an album, and was 
intended apparently for only a few family pictures. 
There was but one that interested him, and this he 
examined intently, almost excitedly. It repre- 
sented a little girl of nine or ten years, — Alice, un- 
doubtedly, — with her arms clasped about the neck 
of a magnificent St. Bernard dog and looking up 
into the handsome features of a tall, slender, dark- 
eyed, black-haired boy of sixteen or thereabouts; 
and the two were enough alike to be brother and 
sister. Who, then, was this boy ? 

Armitage took the photograph to the window 
and studied it carefully. Parade was over, and the 
troops were marching back to their quarters. The 


1 86 


FROM THE RANKS 


band was playing gloriously as it came tramping 
into the quadrangle, and the captain could not but 
glance out at his own old company as in compact 
column of fours it entered the grassy diamond and 
swung off towards the barracks. He saw a knot 
of officers, too, turning the corner by the adjutant's 
office, and for a moment he lowered the album to 
look. Mr. Jerrold was not of the number that came 
sauntering up the walk, dropping away by ones or 
twos as they reached their doors and unbuckled 
their belts or removed their helmets in eager haste 
to get out of the constraint of full dress. But in 
another moment Jerrold, too, appeared, all alone, 
walking rapidly and nervously. Armitage watched 
him, and could not but see how other men turned 
away or gave him the coolest possible nod as he 
passed. The tall, slender lieutenant was hand- 
somer even than when he last saw him; and yet 
there was gloom and worry on the dark beauty of 
his face. Nearer and nearer he came, and had 
passed fhe quarters of the other officers and was 
almost at the door of his own, when Armitage saw 
a little, wiry soldier in full dress uniform running 
across the parade as though in pursuit. He recog- 
nized Merrick, one of the scapegraces of his com- 
pany, and wondered why he should be chasing after 


FROM THE RANKS 


187 

his temporary commander. Just as Jerrold was 
turning under the piazza the soldier seemed to 
make himself heard, and the lieutenant, with an 
angry frown on his face, stopped and confronted 
him. 

“ I told you not to come to me again/’ he said, 
so loud that every word was audible to the captain 
standing by the open window above. “ What do 
you mean, sir, by following me in this way ?” 

The reply was inaudible. Armitage could see 
the little soldier standing in the respectful position 
of “ attention,” looking up and evidently pleading. 

“ I won’t do it until I’m ready,” was again heard 
in Jerrold’s angry tones, though this time the lieu- 
tenant glanced about, as though to see if others 
were within earshot. There was no one, appar- 
ently, and he grew more confident. “ You’ve been 
drinking again to-day, Merrick; you’re not sober 
now; and I won’t give you money to get maudlin 
and go to blabbing secrets on. No, sir ! Go back 
to your quarters, and stay there.” 

The little soldier must indeed have been drink- 
ing, as the lieutenant declared. Armitage saw that 
he hesitated, instead of obeying at once, and that 
his flushed face was angrily working, then that he 
was arguing with his superior and talking louder. 


1 88 


FROM THE RANKS 


This was contrary to all the captain’s ideas of 
proper discipline, even though he was indignant 
at the officer for permitting himself to be placed in 
so false and undignified a position. Jerrold’s words, 
too, had acquired a wide significance; but they 
were feeble as compared with the sudden outburst 
that came from the soldier’s lips : 

“ By God, lieutenant, you bribed me to silence 
to cover your tracks, and then you refuse to pay. 
If you don’t want me to tell what I know, the 
sooner you pay that money the better.” 

This was more than Armitage could stand. He 
went down-stairs three at a jump and out through 
the colonel’s garden with quick, impetuous steps. 
Jerrold’s furious face turned ashen at the sight, 
and Merrick, with one amazed and frightened look 
at his captain, faced about and slunk silently away. 
To him Armitage paid no further attention. It 
was to the officer he addressed himself : 

“ Mr. Jerrold, I have heard pretty much all this 
conversation. It simply adds to the evil report 
with which you have managed to surround your- 
self. Step into your quarters. I must see you 
alone.” 

Jerrold hesitated. He was thunderstruck by the 
sudden appearance of the captain whom he had 


FROM THE RANKS 


189 


believed to be hundreds of miles away. He con- 
nected his return unerringly with the web of 
trouble which had been weaving about him of late. 
He conceived himself to have been most unjustly 
spied upon and suspected, and was full of resent- 
ment at the conduct of Captain Chester. But 
Chester was an old granny, who sometimes made 
blunders and had to back down. It was a different 
thing when Armitage took hold. Jerrold looked 
sulkily into the clear, stern, blue eyes a moment, 
and the first impulse of rebellion wilted. He gave 
one irresolute glance around the quadrangle, then 
motioned with his hand to the open door. Some- 
thing of the old, jaunty, Creole lightness of man- 
ner reasserted itself. 

“ After you, captain,” he said. 


CHAPTER XIII 


Once within-doors, it was too dark for Armi- 
tage to see the features of his lieutenant; and he 
had his own reasons for desiring to read them. 
Mr. Jerrold, on the other hand, seemed disposed 
to keep in the shadows as much as possible. He 
made no movement to open the shutters of the one 
window which admitted light from the front, and 
walked back to his bedroom door, glanced in there 
as though to see that there were no occupants, then 
carefully closed it as he returned to face his cap- 
tain. He took off his helmet and placed it on the 
centre-table, then, thrusting his thumbs inside the 
handsome, gold-broidered sword-belt, stood in a 
jaunty attitude but with a very uneasy look in his 
eyes to hear what his senior might have to say. 
Between the two men an invitation to sit would 
have been a superfluity. Neither had ever re- 
mained long enough in the other’s quarters, since 
the exchange of the first calls when Jerrold came 
to the garrison, to render a chair at all necessary. 

“ Be good enough to strike a light, Mr. Jerrold, ” 
190 


FROM THE RANKS 


191 

said Armitage, presently, seeing that his unwilling 
host made no effort on his own account. 

“ I proposed going out at once, captain, and 
presume you cannot have any very extended re- 
marks to make.” 

“ You cannot see the writing I have to call your 
attention to without a light. I shall detain you no 
longer than is necessary. Had you an engage- 
ment ?” 

“ Nothing of great consequence. I presume it 
will keep.” 

“ It will have to. The matter I have come upon 
will admit no further delay. Light your lamp, if 
you please.” 

And Jerrold did so, slowly and with much reluc- 
tance. He wiped his forehead vigorously the in- 
stant the flame began to splutter, but as the clear, 
steady light of the argand gradually spread over 
the little room Armitage could see the sweat again 
beading his forehead, and the dark eyes were 
glancing nervously about, and the hands that were 
so firm and steady and fine the year before and held 
the Springfield in so light yet immovable an aim 
were twitching now. It was no wonder Jerrold’s 
score had dropped some thirty per cent. His nerve 
had gone to pieces. 


192 


FROM THE RANKS 


Armitage stood and watched him a moment. 
Then he slowly spoke : 

“ I have no desire to allude to the subject of your 
conversation with Merrick. It was to put an end 
to such a thing — not to avail myself of any infor- 
mation it might give — that I hurried in. We will 
put that aside and go at once to the matter that 
brings me back. You are aware, of course, that 
your conduct has compromised a woman’s name, 
and that the garrison is now talking of nothing 
else.” 

Jerrold grasped the back of a chair with one 
slender brown hand, and looked furtively about as 
though for some hope of escape. Something like a 
startled gulp seemed to work his throat-muscles 
an instant ; then he stammered his reply : 

“ I don’t know what you mean.” 

“ You do know what I mean. Captain Chester 
has already told you.” 

“ Captain Chester came in here and made an un- 
authorized inspection of my quarters because he 
heard a shot fired by a sentry. I was out : I don’t 
deny that. But he proceeded to say all manner 
of insulting and unwarrantable things, and tried to 
force me to hand in a resignation, simply because I 
was out of quarters after taps. I could account for 


FROM THE RANKS 


193 

%is doing something so idiotic, but I’m at a loss to 
comprehend your taking it up.” 

“ The most serious allegation ever made against 
an officer of the regiment is made against you, the 
senior lieutenant of my company, and the evidence 
furnished me by the colonel and by Captain Ches- 
ter is of such a character that, unless you can refute 
it and clear her name, you will have a settlement 
with me to start with, and your dismissal from 
the regiment ” 

“ Settlement with you ? What concern have you 
in the matter?” interrupted Jerrold. 

“ Waste no words on that, Mr. Jerrold. Under- 
stand that where her name is concerned no man on 
earth is more interested than I. Now answer me. 
You were absent from your quarters for some 
hours after the doctor’s party. Somebody believed 
to have been you was seen and fired at for refusing 
to halt at the order of Captain Chester at 3.30 in 
the morning. The ladder that usually hung at 
your fence was found at the colonel’s while you 
were out, and that night a woman’s name was 
compromised beyond repair unless you can repair 
it. Unless you prove beyond peradventure where 
you were both that night and last night, — prove 
beyond question that you were not where you are 
13 


194 


FROM THE RANKS 


believed to have been, — her name will be stained 
and yours blackened forever. There are other 
things which you must fully explain; but these 
firsts 

Jerrold’s face was growing gray and sickly. He 
stared at the stern eyes before him, and could make 
no answer. His lips moved dryly, but made no 
sound. 

“ Come, I want to hear from you. Where were 
you, if not with, or seeking, her ? Name your place 
and witnesses.” 

“ By God, Captain Armitage, the army is no 
longer a place for a gentleman, if his every move- 
ment is to be spied upon like this !” 

“ The world is no place for a man of your stamp, 
is perhaps a better way of putting it,” said Armi- 
tage, whose fingers were twitching convulsively, 
and whose whole frame quivered with the effort he 
was making to restrain the rage and indignation 
that consumed him. He could not — he would not 
— believe in her guilt. He must have this man's 
proof, no matter how it might damn him for good 
and all, no matter whom else it might involve, so 
long as it cleared her precious name. He must be 
patient, he must be calm and resolute; but the 
man’s cold-blooded, selfish, criminal concealment 


FROM THE RANKS 


195 

nearly maddened him. With infinite effort he con- 
trolled himself, and went on : 

“ But it is of her I’m thinking, not of you. It 
is the name you have compromised and can clear, 
and should clear, even at the expense of your own, 
— in fact, Mr. Jerrold, must clear. Now will you 
tell me where you were and how you can prove it ?” 

“ I decline to say. I won’t be cross-questioned 
by men who have no authority. Captain Chester 
said he would refer it to the colonel ; and when he 
asks I will answer, — not until then.” 

“ I ask in his name. I am authorized by him, 
for he is not well enough to meet the ordeal.” 

“ You say so, and I don’t mean to dispute your 
word, Captain Armitage, but I have a right to de- 
mand some proof. How am I to know he author- 
ized you ?” 

“ He himself gave me this letter, in your hand- 
writing,” said Armitage; and, opening the long 
envelope, he held forth the missive over which the 
poor old colonel had gone nearly wild. “ He found 
it the morning they left, — in her garden.” 

If Jerrold’s face had been gray before, it was 
simply ghastly now. He recoiled from the sight 
after one fruitless effort to grasp the letter, then 
rallied with unlooked-for spirit : 


196 


FROM THE RANKS 


“ By heaven, Armitage, suppose I did write that 
letter? What does it prove but what I say, — that 
somebody has been prying and spying into my 
affairs? How came the colonel by it, if not by 
fraud or treachery ?” 

“ He picked it up in the garden, I tell you, — 
among the rose-bushes, where she — where Miss 
Renwick had been but a few moments before, and 
where it might appear that she had dropped it.” 

“She! That letter! What had she to do with 
it ? What right had she to read it ?” 

Armitage stepped impulsively forward. A glad, 
glorious light was bursting upon his soul. He 
could almost have seized Jerrold’s hand and 
thanked him; but proofs — proofs were what he 
needed. It was not his mind that was to be con- 
vinced, it was “ society” that must be satisfied of 
her utter innocence, that it might be enabled to say, 
“ Well, I never for a moment believed a word of 
it.” Link by link the chain of circumstantial evi- 
dence must be destroyed, and this was only one. 

“ You mean that that letter was not intended for 
Miss Renwick ?” he asked, with eagerness he strove 
hard to repress. 

“ It was never meant for anybody,” said Jerrold, 
the color coming back to his face and courage to his 


FROM THE RANKS 


197 


eyes. “ That letter was never sent by me to any 
woman. It’s my writing, of course, I can’t deny 
that; but I never even meant it to go. If it left 
that desk it must have been stolen. I’ve been hunt- 
ing high and low for it. I knew that such a thing 
lying around loose would be the cause of mischief. 
God! is that what all this fuss is about?” And he 
looked warily, yet with infinite anxiety, into his 
captain’s eye. 

“ There is far more to it, as you well know, sir,” 
was the stern answer. “ For whom was this writ- 
ten, if not for her? It won’t do to half clear her 
name.” 

“ Answer me this, Captain Armitage. Do you 
mean that that letter has compromised Miss Ren- 
wick? — that it is she whose name has been in- 
volved, and that it was of her that Chester meant 
to speak?” 

“ Certainly it was, — and I too.” 

There was an instant’s silence; then Jerrold be- 
gan to laugh nervously : 

“ Oh, well, I fancy it isn’t the first time the re- 
vered and respected captain has got away off the 
track. All the same I do not mean to overlook his 
language to me ; and I may say right now, Captain 
Armitage, that yours, too, calls for explanation.” 


ig8 


FROM THE RANKS 


“ You shall have it in short order, Mr. Jerrold, 
and the sooner you understand the situation the 
better. So far as I am concerned, Miss Renwick 
needed no defender; but, thanks to your mysteri- 
ous and unwarranted absence from quarters two 
very unlucky nights, and to other circumstances I 
have no need to name, and to your penchant for let- 
ter-writing of a most suggestive character, it is 
Miss Renwick whose name has been brought into 
question here at this post, and most prominently so. 
In plain words, Mr. Jerrold, you who brought this 
trouble upon her by your own misconduct must 
clear her, no matter at whose expense, or ” 

“ Or what?” 

“ I make no threats. I prefer that you should 
make the proper explanations from a proper sense 
of what is due.” 

“ And suppose I say that no man is called upon to 
explain a situation which has been distorted and 
misrepresented by the evil imagination of his fel- 
lows ?” 

“ Then I may have to wring the truth out of you, 
— and will; but, for her sake, I want as little pub- 
licity as possible. After this display on your part, 
I am not bound to show you any consideration 
whatever. Understand this, however: the array 


FROM THE RANKS 


199 


of evidence that you were feloniously inside Colo- 
nel Maynard’s quarters that night and at his cot- 
tage window last night is of such a character that 
a court would convict you unless your alibi was 
conclusive. Leave the service you certainly shall, 
unless this whole thing is cleared up.” 

“ I never was anywhere near Colonel Maynard’s 
either last night or the other night I was absent.” 

“ You will have to prove it. Mere denials won’t 
help you in the face of such evidence as we have 
that you were there the first time.” 

“ What evidence?” 

“ The photograph that was stolen from Mrs. 
Maynard between two and four o’clock that morn- 
ing was seen in your drawer by Major Sloat at 
reveille. You were fool enough to show it to him.” 

“ Captain Armitage, I shall be quite able to show, 
when the proper time comes, that the photograph I 
showed Major Sloat was not stolen: it was given 
me. 

“ That is beyond belief, Mr. Jerrold. Once and 
for all, understand this case. You have compro- 
mised her good name by the very mystery of your 
actions. You have it in your power to clear her 
by proving where you were, since you were not 
near her, — by showing how you got that photo- 


200 


FROM THE RANKS 


graph, — by explaining how you came to write so 
strange a letter. Now I say to you, will you do it, 
instantly, or must we wring it from you ?” 

A sneering smile was the only answer for a mo- 
ment; then, — 

“ I shall take great pleasure in confounding my 
enemies should the matter be brought before a 
court, — I’m sure if the colonel can stand that sort 
of thing I can, — but as for defending myself or 
anybody else from utterly unjust and proofless sus- 
picions, it’s quite another thing.” 

“ Good God, Jerrold ! do you realize what a 
position you are taking? Do you ” 

“ Oh, not at all, captain,” was the airy reply, 
“ not at all. It is not a position I have taken : it is 
one into which you misguided conspirators have 
forced me. I certainly am not required to com- 
promise anybody else in order to relieve a suspicion 
which you, not I, have created. How do you know 
that there may not be some other woman whose 
name I propose to guard? You have been really 
very flattering in your theories so far.” 

Armitage could bear no more. The airy conceit 
and insolence of the man overcame all self-restraint 
and resolution. With one bound he was at his 
throat, his strong white hands grasping him in a 


FROM THE RANKS 


201 


sudden, vice-like grip, then hurling him with stun- 
ning, thundering force to the floor. Down, head- 
long, went the tall lieutenant, his sword clattering 
by his side, his slim brown hands clutching wildly 
at anything that might bear him up, and dragging 
with him in his catastrophe a rack of hunting- 
pouches, antlers, and one heavy double-barrelled 
shot-gun. All came tumbling down about the strug- 
gling form, and Armitage, glaring down at him 
with clinching fists and rasping teeth, had only time 
to utter one deep-drawn malediction when he noted 
that the struggles ceased and Jerrold lay quite still. 
Then the blood began to ooze from a jagged cut 
near the temple, and it was evident that the ham- 
mer of the gun had struck him. 

Another moment, and the door opened, and with! 
anxious face Chester strode into the room. “You 
haven’t killed him, Armitage? Is it as bad as 
that?” 

“ Pick him up, and we’ll get him on the bed. 
He’s only stunned. I didn’t even hit him. Those 
things tumbled afterwards,” said Armitage, as be- 
tween them they raised the dead weight of the 
slender Adonis in their arms and bore him to the 
bedroom. Here they bathed the wound with cold 
water and removed the uniform coat, and presently 


202 FROM THE RANKS 

the lieutenant began to revive and look about 
him. 

“ Who struck me ?” he faintly asked. 

“ Your shot-gun fell on your head, but I threw 
you down, Jerrold. I’m sorry I touched you, but 
you’re lucky it was no worse. This thing is going 
to raise a big bump here. Shall I send the doctor ?” 

“ No. I’ll come round presently. We’ll see 
about this thing afterwards.” 

“ Is there any friend you want to see ? Shall I 
send word to anybody?” asked Chester. 

“ No. Don’t let anybody come. Tell my striker 
to bring my breakfast; but I want nothing to- 
night but to be let alone.” 

“ At least you will let me help you undress and 
get to bed ?” said Chester. 

“No. I wish you’d go, — both of you. I want 
quiet, — peace, — and there’s none of it with either of 
you.” 

And so they left him. Later Captain Chester 
had gone to the quarters, and, after much parley- 
ing from without, had gained admission. Jerrold’s 
head was bound in a bandage wet with arnica and 
water. He had been solacing himself with a pipe 
and a whiskey toddy, and was in a not unnaturally 
ugly mood. 


FROM THE RANKS 203 

“ You may consider yourself excused from duty 
until your face is well again, by which time this 
matter will be decided. I admonish you to remain 
here and not leave the post until it is.” 

“ You can prefer charges and see what you’ll 
make of it,” was the vehement reply. “ Devil a bit 
will I help you out of the thing, after this night’s 
work.” 


CHAPTER XIV 


Tuesday, and the day of the long-projected ger- 
man had come ; and if ever a lot of garrison-people 
were wishing themselves well out of a flurry it was 
the social circle at Sibley. Invitations had been 
sent to all the prominent people in town who had 
shown any interest in the garrison since the regi- 
ment’s arrival ; beautiful favors had been procured ; 
an elaborate supper had been prepared, — the ladies 
contributing their efforts to the salads and other 
solids, the officers wisely confining their donations 
to the wines. It was rumored that new and origi- 
nal figures were to be danced, and much had been 
said about this feature in town, and much specula- 
tion had been indulged in; but the Beaubien resi- 
dence had been closed until the previous day, Nina 
was away with her mother and beyond reach of 
question, and Mr. Jerrold had not shown his face in 
town since her departure. Nor was he accessible 
when visitors inquired at the fort. They had never 
known such mysterious army people in their lives. 
What on earth could induce them to be so close- 
mouthed about a mere german ? one might suppose 
204 


FROM THE RANKS 


205 


they had something worth concealing; and pres- 
ently it became noised abroad that there was gen- 
uine cause for perplexity, and possibly worse. 

To begin with, every one at Sibley now knew 
something of the night adventure at the colonehs, 
and, as no one could give the true statement of the 
case, the stories in circulation were gorgeous em- 
bellishments of the actual facts. It would be use- 
less, even if advisable, to attempt to reproduce these 
wild theories, but never was army garrison so tu- 
multuously stirred by the whirlwind of rumor. It 
was no longer denied for an instant that the absence 
of the colonel and his household was the direct 
result of that night’s discoveries; and when, to 
Mrs. Hoyt’s inexpressible relief, there came a 
prettily-worded note from Alice on Monday even- 
ing informing her that neither the colonel nor her 
mother felt well enough to return to Sibley for the 
german, and that she herself preferred not to leave 
her mother at a time when she needed her care, 
Mrs. Hoyt and her intimates, with whom she in- 
stantly conferred, decided that there could be no 
doubt whatever that the colonel knew of the affair, 
had forbidden their return, and was only waiting 
for further evidence to decide what was to be done 
with his erring step-daughter. Women talked with 


206 


FROM THE RANKS 


bated breath of the latest stories in circulation, of 
Chester’s moody silence and preoccupation, of Jer- 
rold’s ostracism, and of Frank Armitage’s sudden 
return. 

On Monday morning the captain had quietly ap- 
peared in uniform at the office, and it was known 
that he had relinquished the remainder of his leave 
of absence and resumed command of his company. 
There were men in the garrison who well knew that 
it was because of the mystery overhanging the colo- 
nel’s household that Armitage had so suddenly re- 
turned. They asked no questions and sought no 
explanation. All men marked, however, that Jer- 
rold was not at the office on Monday, and many 
curiously looked at the morning report in the ad- 
jutant’s office. No, he was not in arrest; neither 
was he on sick-report. He was marked present for 
duty, and yet he was not at the customary assembly 
of all the commissioned officers at head-quarters. 
More mystery, and most exasperating, too, it was 
known that Armitage and Jerrold had held a brief 
talk in the latter’s quarters soon after Sunday’s 
evening parade, and that the former had been rein- 
forced for a time by Captain Chester, with whom 
he was afterwards closeted. Officers who heard 
that he had suddenly returned and was at Chester’s' 


FROM THE RANKS 


207 


went speedily to the latter’s quarters, — at least two 
or three did, — and were met by a servant at the 
door, who said that the gentleman had just gone 
out the back way. And, sure enough, neither Ches- 
ter nor Armitage came home until long after taps ; 
and then the colonel’s cook told several people that 
the two gentlemen had spent over an hour up- 
stairs in the colonel’s and Miss Alice’s room and 
“ was foolin’ around the house till near ten 
o’clock.” 

Another thing that added to the flame of specu- 
lation and curiosity was this. Two of the ladies, 
returning from a moonlit stroll on the terrace just 
after tattoo, came through the narrow passage-way 
on the west side of the colonel’s quarters, and there, 
at the foot of the little flight of steps leading up to 
the parade, they came suddenly upon Captain Ches- 
ter, who was evidently only moderately pleased to 
see them and nervously anxious to expedite their 
onward movement. With the perversity of both 
sexes, however, they stopped to chat and inquire 
what he was doing there, and in the midst of it all 
a faint light gleamed on the opposite wall and the 
reflection of the curtains in Alice Renwick’s win- 
dow was distinctly visible. Then a sturdy mascu- 
line shadow appeared, and there was a rustling 


208 


FROM THE RANKS 


above, and then, with exasperating, mysterious, and 
epigrammatic terseness, a deep voice propounded 
the utterly senseless question, — 

“ How’s that?” 

To which, in great embarrassment, Chester re- 
plied, — 

“ Hold on a minute. I’m talking with some 
interested spectators.” 

Whereat the shadow of the big man shot out of 
sight, and the ladies found that it was useless to 
remain, — there would be no further developments 
so long as they did ; and so they came away, with 
many a lingering backward look. “ But the idea 
of asking such a fool question as ‘ How’s that ?’ 
Why couldn’t the man say what he meant?” It 
was gathered, however, that Armitage and Chester 
had been making some experiments that bore in 
some measure on the mystery. And all this time 
Mr. Jerrold was in his quarters, only a stone’s- 
throw away. How interested he must have been ! 

But, while the garrison was relieved at knowing 
that Alice Renwick would not be on hand for the 
german and it was being fondly hoped she might 
never return to the post, there was still another 
grievous embarrassment. How about Mr. Jerrold ? 

He had been asked to lead when the german was 


FROM THE RANKS 


209 


first projected, and had accepted. That was fully 
two weeks before; and now — no one knew just 
what ought to be done. It was known that Nina 
Beaubien had returned on the previous day from a 
brief visit to the upper lakes, and that she had a 
costume of ravishing beauty in which to carry deso- 
lation to the hearts of the garrison belles in leading 
that german with Mr. Jerrold. Old Madame Beau- 
bien had been reluctant, said her city friends, to 
return at all. She heartily disapproved of Mr. Jer- 
rold, and was bitterly set against Nina’s growing 
infatuation for him. But Nina was headstrong 
and determined : moreover, she was far more than 
a match for her mother’s vigilance, and it was 
known at Sibley that two or three times the girl 
had been out at the fort with the Suttons and other 
friends when the old lady believed her in quarters 
totally different. Cub Sutton had confided to Cap- 
tain Wilton that Madame Beaubien was in total 
ignorance of the fact that there was to be a party 
at the doctor’s the night he had driven out with 
Nina and his sister, and that Nina had “ pulled the 
wool over her mother’s eyes” and made her believe 
she was going to spend the evening with friends in 
town, naming a family with whom the Beaubiens 
were intimate. A long drive always made the old 
14 


210 


FROM THE RANKS 


lady sleepy, and, as she had accompanied Nina to 
the fort that afternoon, she went early to bed, 
haying secured her wild birdling, as she supposed, 
from possibility of further meetings with Jerrold. 
For nearly a week, said Cub, Madame Beaubien had 
dogged Nina so that she could not get a moment 
with the man with whom she was evidently so 
smitten, and the girl was almost at her wits’ end 
with seeing the depth of his flirtation with Alice 
Renwick and the knowledge that on the morrow 
her mother would spirit her off to the cool breezes 
and blue waves of the great lake. Cub said she so 
worked on Fanny’s feelings that they put up the 
scheme together and made him bring them out. 
Gad! if old Maman only found it out there’d be 
no more germans for Nina. She’d ship her off 
to the good Sisters at Creve-Coeur and slap her 
into a convent and leave all her money to the 
Church. 

And yet, said city society, old Maman idolized 
her beautiful daughter and could deny her no 
luxury or indulgence. She dressed her superbly, 
though with a somewhat barbaric taste where 
Nina’s own good sense and Eastern teaching did 
not interfere. What she feared was that the girl 
would fall in love with some adventurer, or — what 


FROM THE RANKS 


2 II 


was quite as bad — some army man who would 
carry her darling away to Arizona or other inac- 
cessible spot. Her plan was that Nina should 
marry here — at home — some one of the staid 
young merchant princes rising into prominence in 
the Western metropolis, and from the very outset 
Nina had shown a singular infatuation for the but- 
tons and straps and music and heaven-knows-what- 
all out at the fort. She gloried in seeing her 
daughter prominent in all scenes of social life. She 
rejoiced in her triumphs, and took infinite pains 
with all preparations. She would have set her foot 
against Nina’s simply dancing the german at the 
fort with Jerrold as a partner, but she could not 
resist it that the papers should announce on Sun- 
day morning that “ the event of the season at Fort 
Sibley was the german given last Tuesday night by 
the ladies of the garrison and led by the lovely Miss 
Beaubien” with Lieutenant or Captain Anybody. 
There were a dozen bright, graceful, winning 
women among the dames and damsels at the fort, 
and Alice Renwick was a famous beauty by this 
time. It was more than Maman Beaubien could 
withstand, that her Nina should “ lead” all these, 
and so her consent was won. Back they came from 
Chequamegon, and the stately home on Summit 


212 


FROM THE RANKS 


Avenue reopened to receive them. It was Monday 
noon when they returned, and by three o’clock 
Fanny Sutton had told Nina Beaubien what she 
knew of the wonderful rumors that were floating 
in from Sibley. She was more than half disposed 
to be in love with Jerrold herself. She expected a 
proper amount of womanly horror, incredulity, and 
indignation ; but she was totally unprepared for the 
outburst that followed. Nina was transformed 
into a tragedy queen on the instant, and poor, 
simple-hearted, foolish Fanny Sutton was almost 
scared out of her small wits by the fire of denuncia- 
tion and fury with which her story was greeted. 
She came home with white, frightened face and 
hunted up Cub and told him that she had been 
telling Nina some of the queer things the ladies had 
been saying about Mr. Jerrold, and Nina almost 
tore her to pieces, and could he go right out to the 
fort to see Mr. Jerrold? Nina wanted to send a 
note at once; and if he couldn’t go she had made 
her promise that she would get somebody to go 
instantly and to come back and let her know before 
four o’clock. Cub was always glad of an excuse to 
go out to the fort, but a coldness had sprung up 
between him and Jerrold. He had heard the ugly 
rumors in that mysterious way in which all such 


FROM THE RANKS 


213 


things are heard, and, while his shallow pate could 
not quite conceive of such a monstrous scandal and 
he did not believe half he heard, he sagely felt that 
in the presence of so much smoke there was surely 
some fire, and avoided the man from whom he had 
been inseparable. Of course he had not spoken to 
him on the subject, and, singularly enough, this 
was the case with all the officers at the post except 
Armitage and the commander. It was understood 
that the matter was in Chester’s hands, to do with 
as was deemed best. It was believed that his resig- 
nation had been tendered ; and all these forty-eight 
hours since the story might be said to be fairly 
before the public, Jerrold had been left much to 
himself, and was presumably in the depths of dis- 
may. 

One or two men, urged by their wives, who 
thought it was really time something were done to 
let him understand he ought not to lead the german, 
had gone to see him and been refused admission. 
Asked from within what they wanted, the reply 
was somewhat difficult to frame, and in both cases 
resolved itself into “ Oh, about the german to 
which Jerrold’s voice was heard to say, “ The ger- 
man’s all right. I’ll lead if I’m well enough and am 
not bothered to death meantime ; but I’ve got some 


214 


FROM THE RANKS 


private matters to attend to, and am not seeing any- 
body to-day.'' And with this answer they were 
fain to be content. It had been settled, however, 
that the officers were to tell Captain Chester at ten 
o’clock that in their opinion Mr. Jerrold ought not 
to be permitted to attend so long as this mysterious 
charge hung over him, and Mr. Rollins had been 
notified that he must be ready to lead. 

Poor Rollins! He was in sore perplexity. He 
wanted nothing better than to dance with Nina 
Beaubien. He wondered if she would lead with 
him, or would even come at all when she learned 
that Jerrold would be unable to attend. “ Sick- 
ness” was to be the ostensible cause, and in the 
youth and innocence of his heart Rollins never sup- 
posed that Nina would hear of all the other assign- 
able reasons. He meant to ride in and call upon her 
Monday evening; but, as ill luck would have it, 
old Sloat, who was officer of the day, stepped on a 
round pebble as he was going down the long flight 
to the railway-station, and sprained his ankle. Just 
at five o'clock Rollins got orders to relieve him, 
and was returning from the guard-house, when 
who should come driving in but Cub Sutton, and 
Cub reined up and asked where he would be apt to 
find Mr. Jerrold. 


FROM THE RANKS 


215 

“ He isn’t well, and has been denying himself 
to all callers to-day,” said Rollins, shortly. 

“ Well, I’ve got to see him, or at least get a note 
to him,” said Cub. “ It’s from Miss Beaubien, and 
requires an answer.” 

“ You know the way to his quarters, I presume,” 
said Rollins, coldly : “ you have been there fre- 
quently. I will have a man hold your horse, or 
you can tie him there at the rail, just as you 
please.” 

“ Thanks. I’ll go over, I believe.” And go he 
did, and poor Rollins was unable to resist the temp- 
tation of watching whether the magic name of 
Nina would open the door. It did not; but he saw 
Cub hand in the little note through the shutters, 
and ere long there came another from within. This, 
Cub stowed in his waistcoat-pocket and drove off 
with, and Rollins walked jealously homeward. 
But that evening he went through a worse experi- 
ence, and it was the last blow to his budding passion 
for sparkling-eyed Nina. 

It was nearly tattoo, and a dark night, when 
Chester suddenly came in : 

“ Rollins, you remember my telling you I was 
sure some of the men had been getting liquor in 
from the shore down below the station and ‘ run- 


21 6 


FROM THE RANKS 


ning it’ that way ? I believe we can nab the smug- 
gler this evening. There’s a boat down there now. 
The corporal has just told me.” 

Smuggling liquor was one of Chester’s horrors. 
He surrounded the post with a cordon of sentries 
who had no higher duty, apparently, than that of 
preventing the entrance of alcohol in any form. 
He had run a “ red-cross” crusade against the post- 
trader’s store in the matter of light wines and small 
beer, claiming that only adulterated stuff was sold 
to the men, and forbidding the sale of anything 
stronger than “ pop” over the trader’s counter. 
Then, when it became apparent that liquor was 
being brought on the reservation, he made vigorous 
efforts to break up the practice. Colonel Maynard 
rather poohpoohed the whole business. It was his 
theory that a man who was determined to have 
a drink might better be allowed to take an honest 
one, coram publico , than a smuggled and deleteri- 
ous article ; but he succumbed to the rule that only 
“ light wines and beer” should be sold at the store, 
and was lenient to the poor devils who overloaded 
and deranged their stomachs in consequence. But 
Chester no sooner found himself in command than 
he launched into the crusade with redoubled en- 
ergy, and spent hours of the day and night trying 


FROM THE RANKS 


217 


to capture invaders of the reservation with a bottle 
in their pockets. The bridge was guarded, so was 
the crossing of the Cloudwater to the south, and so 
were the two roads entering from the north and 
west ; and yet there was liquor coming in, and, as 
though “to give Chester a benefit,” some of the 
men in barracks had a royal old spree on Saturday 
night, and the captain was sorer-headed than any 
of the participants in consequence. In some way he 
heard that a row-boat came up at night and landed 
supplies of contraband down by the river-side out 
of sight and hearing of the sentry at the railway- 
station, and it was thither he hurriedly led Rollins 
this Monday evening. 

They turned across the railway on reaching the 
bottom of the long stairs, and scrambled down the 
rocky embankment on the other side, Rollins fol- 
lowing in reluctant silence and holding his sword 1 
so that it would not rattle, but he had no faith in 
the theory of smugglers. He felt in some vague 
and unsatisfactory way a sense of discomfort and 
anxiety over his captain's late proceedings, and 
this stealthy descent seemed fraught with ill 
omen. 

Once down in the flats, their footsteps made no 
noise in the yielding sand, and all was silence save 


218 


FROM THE RANKS 


for the plash of the waters along the shores. Far 
down the river were the reflections of one or two 
twinkling lights, and close under the bank in the 
slack-water a few stars were peeping at their own 
images, but no boat was there, and the captain led 
still farther to a little copse of willow, and there, 
in the shadows, sure enough, was a row-boat, with 
a little lantern dimly burning, half hidden in the 
stern. 

Not only that, but as they halted at the edge of 
the willows the captain put forth a warning hand 
and cautioned silence. No need. Rollins’s strain- 
ing eyes were already fixed on two figures that were 
standing in the shadows not ten feet away, — one 
that of a tall, slender man, the other a young girl. 
It was a moment before Rollins could recognize 
either ; but in that moment the girl had turned sud- 
denly, had thrown her arms about the neck of the 
tall young man, and, with her head pillowed on his 
breast, was gazing in his face. 

“ Kiss me once more, Howard. Then I must 
go,” they heard her whisper. 

Rollins seized his captain’s sleeve, and strove, 
sick at heart, to pull him back ; but Chester stoutly 
stood his ground. In the few seconds more that 
they remained they saw his arms more closely en- 


FROM THE RANKS 


219 


fold her. They saw her turn at the brink, and, in 
an utter abandonment of rapturous, passionate 
love, throw her arms again about his neck and stand 
on tiptoe to reach his face with her warm lips. 
They could not fail to hear the caressing tone of 
her every word, or to mark his receptive but 
gloomy silence. They could not mistake the voice, 
— the form, shadowy though it was. The girl was 
Nina Beaubien, and the man, beyond question, 
Howard Jerrold. They saw him hand her into the 
light skiff and hurriedly kiss her good-night. Once 
again, as though she could not leave him, her arms 
were thrown about his neck and she clung to him 
with all her strength; then the little boat swung 
slowly out into the stream, the sculls were shipped, 
and with practised hand Nina Beaubien pulled 
forth into the swirling waters of the river, and the 
faint light, like slowly-setting star, floated down- 
ward with the sweeping tide and finally disappeared 
beyond the point. 

Then Jerrold turned to leave, and Chester 
stepped forth and confronted him: 

“ Mr. Jerrold, did I not instruct you to confine 
yourself to your quarters until satisfactory ex- 
planation was made of the absences with which you 
are charged ?” 


220 


FROM THE RANKS 


Jerrold started at the abrupt and unlooked-for 
greeting, but his answer was prompt : 

“ Not at all, sir. You gave me to understand 
that I was to remain here — not to leave the post — 
until you had decided on certain points*, and, 
though I do not admit the justice of your course, 
and though you have put me to grave inconveni- 
ence, I obeyed the order. I needed to go to town 
to-day on urgent business, but, between you and 
Captain Armitage, am in no condition to go. For 
all this, sir, there will come proper retribution when 
my colonel returns. And now, sir, you are spying 
upon me, — spying , I say, — and it only confirms 
what I said of you before.” 

“ Silence, Mr. Jerrold! This is insubordina- 
tion.” 

“ I don’t care a damn what it is, sir ! There is 
nothing contemptuous enough for me to say of you 
or your conduct to me ” 

“ Not another word, Mr. Jerrold! Go to your 
quarters in arrest. — Mr. Rollins, you are witness 
to this language.” 

But Rollins was not. Turning from the spot in 
blankness of heart before a word was uttered be- 
tween them, he followed the waning light with eyes 
full of yearning and trouble; he trudged his way 


FROM THE RANKS 


221 


down along the sandy shore until he came to the 
silent waters of the slough and could go no farther ; 
and then he sat him down and covered his face with 
his hands. It was pretty hard to bear. 


CHAPTER XV 


Tuesday still, and all manner of things had hap- 
pened and were still to happen in the hurrying 
hours that followed Sunday night. The garrison 
woke at Tuesday’s reveille in much perturbation of 
spirit, as has been said, but by eight o’clock and 
breakfast-time one cause of perplexity was at an 
end. Relief had come with Monday afternoon and 
Alice Renwick’s letter saying she would not at- 
tend the german, and now still greater relief in the 
news that sped from mouth to mouth : Lieutenant 
Jerrold was in close arrest. Armitage and Chester 
had been again in consultation Monday night, said 
the gossips, and something new had been discov- 
ered, — no one knew just what, — and the toils had 
settled upon Jerrold’s handsome head, and now he 
was to be tried. As usual in such cases, the news 
came in through the kitchen, and most officers 
heard it at the breakfast-table from the lips of their 
better halves, who could hardly find words to ex- 
press their sentiments as to the inability of their 
lords to explain the new phase of the situation. 
iWhen the first sergeant of Company B came 


222 


FROM THE RANKS 


223 


around to Captain Armitage with the sick-book, 
‘soon after six in the morning, the captain briefly 
directed him to transfer Lieutenant Jerrold on the 
morning report from present for duty to “ in ar- 
rest,” and no sooner was it known at the quarters 
of Company B than it began to work back to Offi- 
cers’ Row through the medium of the servants and 
strikers. 

It was the sole topic of talk for a full hour. 
Many ladies who had intended going to town by 
the early train almost perilled their chances of 
catching the same in their eagerness to hear 
further details. 

But the shriek of the whistle far up the valley 
broke up the group that was so busily chatting and 
speculating over in the quadrangle, and, with shy 
yet curious eyes, the party of at least a dozen — 
matrons and maids, wives or sisters of the officers 
— scurried past the darkened windows of Mr. Jer- 
rold’s quarters, and through the mysterious pas- 
sage west of the colonel’s silent house, and down 
the long stairs, just in time to catch the train that 
whirled them away city-ward almost as soon as it 
had disgorged the morning’s mail. Chatting and 
laughing, and full of blithe anticipation of the 
glories of the coming german, in preparation for 


224 


FROM THE RANKS 


which most of their number had found it necessary 
to run in for just an hour’s shopping, they went 
jubilantly on their way. Shopping done, they 
would all meet, take luncheon together at the 
“ Woman’s Exchange,” return to the post by the 
afternoon train, and have plenty of time for a little 
nap before dressing for the german. Perhaps the 
most interesting question now up for discussion 
was, who would lead with Mr. Rollins ? The train, 
went puffing into the crowded depot: the ladies 
hastened forth, and in a moment were on the street ; 
cabs and carriages were passed in disdain ; a brisk 
walk of a block carried them to the main thorough- 
fare and into the heart of the shopping district; a 
rush of hoofs and wheels and pedestrians there 
encountered them, and the roar assailed their sen- 
sitive and unaccustomed ears, yet high above it all 
pierced and pealed the shrill voices of the news- 
boys darting here and there with their eagerly- 
bought journals. But women bent on germans and 
shopping have time and ears for no such news as 
that which demands the publication of extras. 
Some of them never hear or heed the cry, “ Indian 
Massacree !” “ Here y’are ! All about the killin’ of 
Major Thornton an’ his sojers!” “Extry! — ex- 
try !” It is not until they reach the broad portals 


FROM THE RANKS 


225 


of the great Stewart of the West that one of their 
number, half incredulously, buys a copy and reads 
aloud : “ Major Thornton, th Infantry, Cap- 
tain Langham and Lieutenant Bliss, th 

Cavalry, and thirty men, are killed. Captains 
Wright and Lane and Lieutenants Willard and 

Brooks, th Cavalry, and some forty more men, 

are seriously wounded. The rest of the command 
is corralled by an overwhelming force of Indians, 
and their only hope is to hold out until help can 
reach them. All troops along the line of the Union 
[Pacific are already under orders.” 

“ Oh, isn’t it dreadful?” 

“ Yes ; but aren’t you glad it wasn’t Ours ? Oh, 
look ! there’s Nina Beaubien over there in her car- 
riage. Do let’s find out if she’s going to lead with 
Rollins!” 

V a victis! Far out in the glorious Park coun- 
try in the heart of the Centennial State a little band 
of blue-coats, sent to succor a perilled agent, is 
making desperate stand against fearful odds. Less 
than two hundred men has the wisdom of the De- 
partment sent forth through the wilderness to find 
and, if need be, fight its way through five times its 
weight in well-armed foes. The officers and men 
have no special quarrel with those Indians, nor the 
is 


226 


FROM THE RANKS 


Indians with them. Only two winters before, when 
those same Indians were sick and starving, and 
their lying go-betweens, the Bureau-employees, 
would give them neither food nor justice, a small 
band made their way to the railway and were fed 
on soldier food and their wrongs righted by soldier 
justice. But another snarl has come now, and this 
time the Bureau-people are in a pickle, and the 
army — ever between two fires at least, and thank- 
ful when it isn’t six — is ordered to send a little 
force and go out there and help the agent maintain 
his authority. The very night before the column 
reaches the borders of the reservation the leading 
chiefs come in camp to interview the officers, shake 
hands, beg tobacco, and try on their clothes, then 
go back to their braves and laugh as they tell there 
are only a handful, and plan the morrow’s ambus- 
cade and massacre. Vce victis! There are women 
and children among the garrisons along the Union 
Pacific whose hearts have little room for thoughts 
of germans in the horror of this morning’s tidings. 
But Sibley is miles and miles away, and, as Mrs. 
Wheeler says, aren’t you glad it wasn’t Ours? 

Out at the fort there is a different scene. The 
morning journals and the clicking telegraph send 
a thrill throughout the whole command. The train 


FROM THE RANKS 


227 


has barely whistled out of sight when the ringing 
notes of officers’ call resound through the quad- 
rangle and out over the broader drill-ground be- 
yond. Wondering, but prompt, the staid captains 
and eager subalterns come hurrying to head-quar- 
ters, and the band, that had come forth and taken 
its station on the parade, all ready for guard- 
mount, goes quickly back, while the men gather in 
big squads along the shaded row of their quarters 
and watch the rapid assembly at the office. And 
there old Chester, with kindling eyes, reads to the 
silent company the brief official order. Ay, though 
it be miles and miles away, fast as steam and wheel 
can take it, the good old regiment in all its sturdy 
strength goes forth to join the rescue of the im- 
prisoned comrades far in the Colorado Rockies. 
“ Have your entire command in readiness for im- 
mediate field-service in the Department of the 
Platte. Special train will be there to take you by 
noon at latest.” And though many a man has lost 
friend and comrade in the tragedy that calls them 
forth, and though many a brow clouds for the mo- 
ment with the bitter news of such useless sacrifice, 
every eye brightens, every muscle seems to brace, 
every nerve and pulse to throb and thrill with the 
glorious excitement of quick assembly and coming 


228 


FROM THE RANKS 


action. Ay, we are miles and miles away; we 
leave the dear old post, with homes and firesides, 
wives, children, and sweethearts, all to the care of 
the few whom sickness or old wounds or advancing 
years render unfit for hard, sharp marching; and, 
thank God ! we’ll be there to take a hand and help 
those gallant fellows out of their “ corral” or to 
have one good blow at the cowardly hounds who 
lured and lied to them. 

How the “ assembly” rings on the morning air ! 
How quick they spring to ranks, those eager 
bearded faces and trim blue-clad forms! How 
buoyant and brisk even the elders seem as the cap- 
tains speed over to their company quarters and the 
quick, stirring orders are given! “ Field kits; all 
the cooked rations you have on hand; overcoat, 
blanket, extra socks and underclothes; every car- 
tridge you’ve got; haversack and canteen, and 
nothing else. Now get ready, — lively!” How 
irrepressible is the cheer that goes up! How we 
pity the swells of the light battery who have to 
stay! How wistful those fellows look, and how 
eagerly they throng about the barracks, yearning 
to go, and, since that is denied, praying to be of 
use in some way! Small wonder is it that all the 
bustle and excitement penetrates the portals of Mr. 


FROM THE RANKS 


229 


Jerrold’s darkened quarters, and the shutters are 
thrown open and his bandaged head comes forth. 

“What is it, Harris?” he demands of a lights 
batteryman who is hurrying past. 

“ Orders for Colorado, sir. The regiment goes 
by special train. Major Thornton’s command’s 
been massacred, and there’s a big fight ahead.” 

“ My God ! Here ! — stop one moment. Run 
over to Company B and see if you can find my 
servant, or Merrick, or somebody. If not, you 
come back quick. I want to send a note to Captain 
Armitage.” 

“ I can take it, sir. We’re not going. The band 
and the battery have to stay.” 

And Jerrold, with trembling hand and feverish 
haste, seats himself at the same desk whence on 
that fatal morning he sent the note that wrought 
such disaster; and as he rises and hands his mis- 
sive forth, throwing wide open the shutters as he 
does so, his bedroom doors fly open, and a whirling 
gust of the morning wind sweeps through from 
rear to front, and half a score of bills and billets, 
letters and scraps of paper, go ballooning out upon 
the parade. 

“ By heaven !” he mutters, “ that’s how it hap- 
pened, is it? Look at them go!” for going they 


230 


FROM THE RANKS 


were, in spiral eddies or fluttering skips, up the 
grassy “ quad,” and over among the rose-bushes 
of Alice Renwick’s garden. Over on the other side 
of the narrow, old-fashioned frontier fort the men 
were bustling about, and their exultant, eager 
voices rang out on the morning air. All was life 
and animation, and even in Jerrold’s selfish soul 
there rose responsive echo to the soldierly spirit that 
seemed to pervade the whole command. It was 
their first summons to active field-duty with pros- 
pective battle since he had joined, and, with all his 
shortcomings as a “ duty” officer in garrison and 
his many frailties of character, Jerrold was not the 
man to lurk in the rear when there was danger 
ahead. It dawned on him with sudden and crush- 
ing force that now it lay in the power of his ene- 
mies to do him vital injury, — that he could be held 
here at the post like a suspected felon, a mark 
for every finger, a target for every tongue, while 
every other officer of his regiment was hurrying 
with his men to take his knightly share in the 
coming onset. It was intolerable, shameful. He 
paced the floor of his little parlor in nervous 
misery, ever and anon gazing from the window for 
sight of his captain. It was to him he had written, 
urging that he be permitted a few moments’ talk. 


FROM THE RANKS 


231 


“ This is no time for a personal misunderstanding,” 
he wrote. “ I must see you at once. I can clear 
away the doubts, can explain my action; but, for 
heaven’s sake, intercede for me with Captain Ches- 
ter that I may go with the command.” 

As luck would have it, Armitage was with Ches- 
ter at the office when the letter was handed in. He 
opened it, gave a whistle of surprise, and simply 
held it forth to the temporary commander. 

“ Read that,” he said. 

Chester frowned, but took the note and looked it 
curiously over. 

“ I have no patience with the man now,” he 
Said. “ Of course after what I saw last night I 
begin to understand the nature of his defence; 
but we don’t want any such man in the regiment, 
after this. What’s the use of taking him with 
us?” 

“ That isn’t the point,” said Armitage. “ Now 
or never, possibly, is the time to clear up this mys- 
tery. Of course Maynard will be up to join us by 
the first train ; and what won’t it be worth to him 
to have positive proof that all his fears were un- 
founded ?” 

“ Even if it wasn’t Jerrold, there is still the fact 
that I saw a man clambering out of her window. 


232 FROM THE RANKS 

How is that to be cleared up?” said Chester, 
gloomily. 

“ That may come later, and won’t be such a bug- 
bear as you think. If you were not worried into 
a morbid condition over all this trouble, you would 
not look so seriously upon a thing which I regard 
as a piece of mere night prowling, with a possible 
spice of romance.” 

“ What romance, I’d like to know?” 

“ Never mind that now : I’m playing detective 
for the time being. Let me see Jerrold for you and 
find out what he has to offer. Then you can decide. 
Are you willing? All right! But remember this 
while I think of it. You admit that the light you 
saw on the wall Sunday night was exactly like that 
which you saw the night of your adventure, and 
that the shadows were thrown in the same way. 
You thought that night that the light was turned 
up and afterwards turned out in her room, and that 
it was her figure you saw at the window. Didn’t 
you ?” 

“ Yes. What then?” 

“ Well, I believe her statement that she saw and 
heard nothing until reveille. I believe it was Mrs. 
Maynard who did the whole thing, without Miss 
Renwick’s knowing anything about it.” 


FROM THE RANKS 


233 


“ Why?” 

“ Because I accomplished the feat with the aid of 
the little night-lamp that I found by the colonel’s 
bedside. It is my theory that Mrs. Maynard was 
restless after the colonel finally fell asleep, that she 
heard your tumble, and took her little lamp, crossed 
over into Miss Renwick’s room, opened the door 
without creaking, as I can do to your satisfaction, 
found her sleeping quietly, but the room a trifle 
close and warm, set her night-lamp down on the 
table, as I did, threw her shadow on the wall, as I 
did, and opened the shade, as you thought her 
daughter did. Then she withdrew, and left those 
doors open, — both hers and her daughter’s, — and 
the light, instead of being turned down, as you 
thought, was simply carried back into her own 
room.” 

“ That is all possible. But how about the man 
in her room? Nothing was stolen, though money 
and jewelry were lying around loose. If theft was 
not the object, what was?” 

“ Theft certainly was not, and I’m not prepared 
to say what was, but I have reason to believe it 
wasn’t Miss Renwick.” 

“ Anything to prove it ?” 

“ Yes ; and, though time is precious and I cannot 


234 


FROM THE RANKS 


show you, you may take my word for it. We must 
be off at noon, and both of us have much to do, 
but there may be no other chance to talk, and be- 
fore you leave this post I want you to realize her 
utter innocence. ,, 

“ I want to, Armitage.” 

“ I know you do : so look here. We assume that 
the same man paid the night visit both here and at 
Sablon, and that he wanted to see the same person, 
— if he did not come to steal : do we not?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ We know that at Sablon it was Mrs. Maynard 
he sought and called. The colonel says so.” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Presumably, then, it was she — not her daugh- 
ter — he had some reasons for wanting to see here, 
at Sibley. What is more, if he wanted to see Miss 
Renwick there was nothing to prevent his going 
right into her window?” 

“ Nothing.” 

“Well, I believe I can prove he didn't; on the 
contrary, that he went around by the roof of the 
porch to the colonel's room and tried there, but 
found it risky on account of the blinds, and that 
finally he entered the hall window, — what might be 
called neutral ground. The painters had been at 


FROM THE RANKS 


235 


work there, as you said, two days before, and the 
paint on the slats was not quite dry. The blinds 
and sills were the only things they had touched up 
on that front, it seems, and nothing on the sides. 
Now, on the fresh paint of the colonel’s slats are the 
new imprints of masculine thumb and fingers, and 
on the sill of the hall window is a footprint that I 
know to be other than Jerrold’s.” 

“ Why?” 

“ Because he doesn’t own such a thing as this 
track was made with, and I don’t know a man in 
this command who does. It was the handiwork of 
the Tonto Apaches, and came from the other side 
of the continent.” 

“ You mean it was ?” 

“ Exactly. An Indian moccasin.” 

Meantime, Mr. Jerrold had been making hurried 
preparations, as he had fully determined that at any 
cost he would go with the regiment. He had been 
burning a number of letters, when Captain Armi- 
tage knocked and hurriedly entered. Jerrold 
pushed forward a chair and plunged at once into 
the matter at issue : 

“ There is no time to waste, captain. I have 
sent to you to ask what I can do to be released from 
arrest and permitted to go with the command.” 


23 6 


FROM THE RANKS 


“ Answer the questions I put to you the other 
night, and certify to your answers ; and of course 
you’ll have to apologize to Captain Chester for 
your last night’s language.” 

“ That of course ; though you will admit it 
looked like spying. Now let me ask you, did he tell 
you who the lady was?” 

“ No. I told him.” 

“ How did you know ?” 

“ By intuition, and my knowledge of previous 
circumstances.” 

“We have no time to discuss it. I make no at- 
tempt to conceal it now; but I ask that, on your 
honor, neither you nor he reveal it.” 

“And continue to let the garrison believe that 
you were in Miss Renwick’s room that ghastly 
night?” asked Armitage, dryly. 

Jerrold flushed : “I have denied that, and I 
would have proved my alibi could I have done 
so without betraying a woman’s secret. Must I 
tell?” 

“ So far as I am concerned, Mr. Jerrold,” said 
Armitage, with cold and relentless meaning, “ you 
not only must tell — you must prove — both that 
night’s doings and Saturday night’s, — both that 
and how you obtained that photograph.” 


FROM THE RANKS 


237 


“ My God ! In one case it is a woman’s name ; 
in the other I have promised on honor not to reveal 
it.” 

“ That ends it, then. You remain here in close 
arrest, and the charges against you will be pushed 
to the bitter end. I will write them this very hour.” 


CHAPTER XVI 

At ten o'clock that morning, shortly after a 
smiling interview with the ladies of Fort Sibley, in 
which, with infinite spirit and the most perfect self- 
control, Miss Beaubien had informed them that she 
had promised to lead with Mr. Jerrold, and, since 
he was in duress, she would lead with no one, and 
sent them off wondering and greatly excited, there 
came running up to the carriage a telegraph mes- 
senger boy, who handed her a despatch. 

“ I was going up to the avenue, mum," he ex- 
plained, “ but I seen you here." 

Nina's face paled as she tore it open and read the 
curt lines : 

“ Come to me, here. Your help needed in- 
stantly." 

She sprang from the carriage. “ Tell mother I 
have gone over to see some Fort friends, — not to 
wait," she called to the coachman, well knowing 
he would understand that she meant the ladies with 
whom she had been so recently talking. Like a 
frightened deer she sped around the corner, hailed 
the driver of a cab, lounging with his fellows along 
238 


FROM THE RANKS 


239 


the walk, ordered him to drive with all speed to 
Summit Avenue, and with beating heart decided 
on her plan. Her glorious eyes were flashing : the 
native courage and fierce determination of her race 
were working in her woman’s heart. She well 
knew that imminent danger threatened him. She 
had dared everything for love of his mere presence, 
his sweet caress. What would she not dare to save 
him, if save she could? He had not been true to 
her. She knew, and knew well, that, whether 
sought or not, Alice Renwick had been winning 
him from her, that he was wavering, that he had 
been cold and negligent ; but with all her soul and 
strength she loved him, and believed him grand and 
brave and fine as he was beautiful. Now — now 
was her opportunity. He needed her. His com- 
mission, his honor, depended on her. He had in- 
timated as much the night before, — had told her of 
the accusations and suspicions that attached to him, 
— but made no mention of the photograph. He 
had said that though nothing could drag from him 
a word that would compromise her , she might be 
called upon to stand ’twixt him and ruin ; and now 
perhaps the hour had come. She could free, exon- 
erate, glorify him, and in doing so claim him for 
her own. Who, after this, could stand ’twixt her 


240 


FROM THE RANKS 


and him ? He loved her, though he had been cold ; 

and she ? Had he bidden her bow her dusky 

head to earth and kiss the print of his heel, she 
would have obeyed could she but feel sure that her 
reward would be a simple touch of his hand, an 
assurance that no other woman could find a mo- 
ment’s place in his love. Verily, he had been doing 
desperate wooing in the long winter, for the very 
depths of her nature were all athrob with love for 
him. And now he could no longer plead that 
poverty withheld his offer of his hand. She would 
soon be mistress of her own little fortune, and, at 
her mother’s death, of an independence. Go to 
him she would, and on wings of the wind, and go 
she did. The cab released her at the gate to her 
home, and went back with a double fare that set the 
driver to thinking. She sped through the house,, 
and out the rear doors, much to the amaze of cook 
and others who were in consultation in the kitchen. 
She flew down a winding flight of stairs to the 
level below, and her fairy feet went tripping over 
the pavement of a plebeian street. A quick turn, 
and she was at a little second-rate stable, whose 
proprietor knew her and started from his chair. 

“ What’s wrong to-day, Miss Nina?” 

“ I want the roan mare and light buggy again, — 


FROM THE RANKS 


241 

quick as you can. Your own price at the old terms, 
Mr. Graves, silence.” 

He nodded, called to a subordinate, and in five 
minutes handed her into the frail vehicle. An 
impatient chirrup and flap of the reins, and the roan 
shot forth into the dusty road, leaving old Graves 
shaking his head at the door. 

“ I’ve known her ever since she was weaned,” 
he muttered, “ and she’s a wild bird, if ever there 
was one, but she’s never been the like o’ this till 
last month.” 

And the roan mare was covered with foam and 
Sweat when Nina Beaubien drove into the bustling 
fort, barely an hour after her receipt of Jerrold’s 
telegram. A few officers were gathered in front 
of head-quarters, and there were curious looks 
from face to face as she was recognized. Mr. Rol- 
lins was on the walk, giving some instructions to 
a sergeant of his company, and never saw her until 
the buggy reined up close behind him and, turning 
suddenly, he met her face to face as she sprang 
lightly to the ground. The young fellow reddened 
to his eyes, and would have recoiled, but she was 
mistress of the situation. She well knew she had 
but to command and he would obey, or, at the most, 
if she could no longer command she had only to 
16 


242 


FROM THE RANKS 


implore, and he would be powerless to withstand 
her entreaty. 

“ I am glad you are here, Mr. Rollins. You can 
help me. — Sergeant, will you kindly hitch my horse 
at that post? — Now,” she added, in low, hurried 
tone, “ come with me to Mr. Jerrold’s.” 

Rollins was too stupefied to answer. Silently he 
placed himself by her side, and together they passed 
the group at the office. Miss Beaubien nodded with 
something of her old archness and coquetry to the 
cap-raising party, but never hesitated. Together 
they passed along the narrow board walk, followed 
by curious eyes, and as they reached the angle and 
stepped beneath the shelter of the piazza in front 
of the long, low, green-blinded Bachelors’ Row, 
there was sudden sensation in the group. Mr. 
Jerrold appeared at the door of his quarters; Rol- 
lins halted some fifty feet away, raised his cap, and 
left her ; and, all alone, with the eyes of Fort Sib- 
ley upon her, Nina Beaubien stepped bravely for- 
ward to meet her lover. 

They saw him greet her at the door. Some of 
them turned away, unwilling to look, and yet un- 
willing to go and not understand this new phase 
of the mystery. Rollins, looking neither to right 
nor left, repassed them and walked pff with a set. 


FROM THE RANKS 


243 


savage look on his young face, and then, as one or 
two still gazed, fascinated by this strange and 
daring proceeding, others, too, turned back and, 
half ashamed of themselves for such a yielding to 
curiosity, glanced furtively over at JerrokTs door. 

There they stood, — he, restrained by his arrest, 
unable to come forth; she, restrained more by his 
barring form than by any consideration of 
maidenly reserve, for, had he bidden, she would 
have gone within. She had fully made up her 
mind that wherever he was, even were it behind the 
sentinels and bars of the guard-house, she would 
demand that she be taken to his side. He had 
handed out a chair, but she would not sit. They 
saw her looking up into his face as he talked, and 
noted the eager gesticulation, so characteristic of 
his Creole blood, that seemed to accompany his 
rapid words. They saw her bending towards him, 
'looking eagerly up in his eyes, and occasionally 
casting indignant glances over towards the group 
at the office, as though she would annihilate with 
her wrath the persecutors of her hero. Then they 
saw her stretch forth both her hands with a quick 
impulsive movement, and grasp his one instant, 
looking so faithfully, steadfastly, loyally, into his 
clouded and anxious face. Then she turned, and 


244 


FROM THE RANKS 


with quick, eager steps came tripping towards them. 
They stood irresolute. Every man felt that it was 
somebody’s duty to step forward, meet her, and 
be her escort through the party, but no one ad- 
vanced. There was, if anything, a tendency to 
sidle towards the office door, as though to leave the 
sidewalk unimpeded. But she never sought to pass 
them by. With flashing eyes and crimson cheeks, 
she bore straight upon them, and, with indignant 
emphasis upon every word, accosted them : 

“ Captain Wilton, Major Sloat, I wish to see 
Captain Chester at once. Is he in the office ?” 

“ Certainly, Miss Beaubien. Shall I call him ? 
or will you walk in?” And both men were at her 
side in a moment. 

“ Thanks. I will go right in, — if you will kindly 
show me to him.” 

Another moment, and Armitage and Chester, 
deep in the midst of their duties and surrounded 
by clerks and orderlies and assailed by half a dozen 
questions in one and the same instant, looked up 
astonished as Wilton stepped in and announced 
Miss Beaubien desiring to see Captain Chester on 
immediate business. There was no time for con- 
ference. There she stood in the door-way, and all 
tongues were hushed on the instant. Chester rose 


FROM THE RANKS 245 

and stepped forward with anxious courtesy. She 
did not choose to see the extended hand. 

“It is you, alone, I wish to see, captain. Is it 
impossible here?” 

“ I fear it is, Miss Beaubien ; but we can walk 
out in the open air. I feel that I know what it is 
you wish to say to me,” he added, in a low tone, 
took his cap from the peg on which it hung, and led 
the way. Again she passed through the curious 
but respectful group, and Jerrold, watching fur- 
tively from his window, saw them come forth. 

The captain turned to her as soon as they were 
out of earshot : 

“ I have no daughter of my own, my dear young 
lady, but if I had I could not more thoroughly feel 
for you than I do. How can I help you ?” 

The reply was unexpectedly spirited. He had 
thought to encourage and sustain her, be sym- 
pathetic and paternal, but, as he afterwards rue- 
fully admitted, he “ never did seem to get the hang 
of a woman’s temperament.” Apparently sym- 
pathy was not the thing she needed. 

“ It is late in the day to ask such a question, 
Captain Chester. You have done great wrong 
and injustice. The question is now, will you undo 
it?” 


246 


FROM THE RANKS 


He was too surprised to speak for a moment. 
.When his tongue was unloosed he said, — 

“ I shall be glad to be convinced I was wrong.” 

“ I know little of army justice or army laws, 
Captain Chester, but when a girl is compelled to 
take this step to rescue a friend there is something 
brutal about them, — or the men who enforce them. 
Mr. Jerrold tells me that he is arrested. I knew 
that last night, but not until this morning did he 
consent to let me know that he would be court-mar- 
tialled unless he could prove where he was the 
night you were officer of the day two weeks ago, 
and last Saturday night. He is too noble and good 
to defend himself when by doing so he might harm 
me. But I am here to free him from the cruel sus- 
picion you have formed.” She had quickened her 
step, and in her impulsiveness and agitation they 
were almost at the end of the walk. He hesitated, 
as though reluctant to go along under the piazza, 
but she was imperious, and he yielded. “ No, 
come !” she said. “ I mean that you shall hear the 
whole truth, and that at once. I do not expect you 
to understand or condone my conduct, but you 
must acquit him. We are engaged; and — I love 
him. He has enemies here, as I see all too plainly, 
and they have prejudiced mother against him, and 


FROM THE RANKS 


247 


she has forbidden my seeing him. I came out to 
the fort without her knowledge one day, and it 
angered her. From that time she would not let me 
see him alone. She watched every movement, and 
came with me wherever I drove. She gave orders 
that I should never have any of our horses to drive 
or ride alone, — I, whom father had indulged to the 
utmost and who had ridden and driven at will from 
my babyhood. She came out to the fort with me 
that evening for parade, and never even agreed to 
let me go out to see some neighbors until she 
learned he was to escort Miss Renwick. She had 
ordered me to be ready to go with her to Chequa- 
magon the next day, and I would not go until I had 
seen him. There had been a misunderstanding. I 
got the Suttons to drive me out while mother sup- 
posed me at the Laurents’, and Mr. Jerrold prom- 
ised to meet me east of the bridge and drive in town 
with us, and I was to send him back in Graves’s 
buggy. He had been refused permission to leave 
the post, he said, and could not cross the bridge, 
where the sentries would be sure to recognize him, 
but, as it was our last chance of meeting, he risked 
the discovery of his absence, never dreaming of 
such a thing as his private rooms being inspected. 
He had a little skiff down in the willows that he 


248 


FROM THE RANKS 


had used before, and by leaving the party at mid- 
night he could get home, change his dress, run 
down the bank and row down-stream to the Point, 
there leave his skiff and climb up to the road. He 
met us there at one o’clock, and the Suttons would 
never betray either of us, though they did not know 
we were engaged. We sat in their parlor a quarter 
of an hour after we got to town, and then ’twas 
time to go, and there was only a little ten minutes’ 
walk down to the stable. I had seen him such a 
very short time, and I had so much to tell him.” 
(Chester could have burst into rapturous applause 
had she been an actress. Her cheeks were aflame, 
her eyes full of fire and spirit, her bosom heaving, 
her little foot tapping the ground, as she stood 
there leaning on the colonel’s fence and looking 
straight up in the perturbed veteran’s face. She 
was magnificent, he said to himself; and, in her 
bravery, self-sacrifice, and indignation, she was.) 
“ It was then after two, and I could just as well 
go with him, — somebody had to bring the buggy 
back, — and Graves himself hitched in his roan 
mare for me, and I drove out, picked up Mr. Jer- 
rold at the corner, and we came out here again 
through the darkness together. Even when we got 
to the Point I did not let him go at once. It was 


FROM THE RANKS 


249 


over an hour’s drive. It was fully half-past three 
before we parted. He sprang down the path to 
reach the river-side; and before he was fairly in 
his boat and pulling up against the stream, I heard, 
far over here somewhere, those two faint shots. 
That was the shooting he spoke of in his letter to 
me, — not to her ; and what business Colonel May- 
nard had to read and exhibit to his officers a letter 
never intended for him I cannot understand. Mr. 
Jerrold says it was not what he wanted it to be at 
all, as he wrote hastily, so he wrote another, and 
sent that to me by Merrick that morning after his 
absence was discovered. It probably blew out of 
the window, as these other things did this morning. 
See for yourself, captain.” And she pointed to the 
two or three bills and scraps that had evidently 
only recently fluttered in among the now neglected 
roses. “ Then when he was aroused at reveille and 
you threatened him with punishment and held over 
his head the startling accusation that you knew of 
our meeting and our secret, he was naturally in- 
finitely distressed, and could only write to warn 
me, and he managed to get in and say good-by to 
me at the station. As for me, I was back home by 
five o’clock, let myself noiselessly up to my room, 
and no one knew it but the Suttons and old Graves, 


250 


FROM THE RANKS 


neither of whom would betray me. I had no fear 
of the long dark road : I had ridden and driven as 
a child all over these bluffs and prairies before there 
was any town worth mentioning, and in days when 
my father and I found only friends — not enemies 
— here at Sibley.” 

“ Miss Beaubien, let me protest against your ac- 
cusation. It is not for me to reprove your grave 
imprudence or recklessness; nor have I the right 
to disapprove your choice of Mr. Jerrold. Let me 
say at once that you have none but friends here; 
and if it ever should be known to what lengths you 
went to save him, it will only make him more en- 
vied and you more genuinely admired. I question 
your wisdom, but, upon my soul, I admire your 
bravery and spirit. You have cleared him of a 
terrible charge.” 

A most disdainful and impatient shrug of her 
shapely shoulders was Miss Beaubien’s only an- 
swer to that allusion. The possibility of Mr. Jer- 
rold’s being suspected of another entanglement was 
something she would not tolerate : 

“ I know nothing of other people’s affairs. I 
simply speak of my own. Let us end this as quickly 
as possible, captain. Now about Saturday night. 
' Mother had consented to our coming back for the 


FROM THE RANKS 


251 


german, — she enjoys seeing me lead, it seems, — 
and she decided to pay a short visit to relations at 
St. Croix, staying there Saturday night and over 
Sunday. This would give us a chance to meet 
again, as he could spend the evening in St. Croix 
and return by late train, and I wrote and asked 
him. He came ; we had a long talk in the summer- 
house in the garden, for mother never dreamed of 
his being there, and unluckily he just missed the 
night train and did not get back until inspection. 
It was impossible for him to have been at Sablon; 
and he can furnish other proof, but would do 
nothing until he had seen me.” 

“ Miss Beaubien, you have cleared him. I only 
wish that you could clear — every one.” 

“ I am in no wise concerned in that other matter 
to which you have alluded; neither is Mr. Jerrold. 
May I say to him that this ends his persecution?” 

The captain smiled : “You certainly deserve to 
be the bearer of good tidings. I wish he may ap- 
preciate it.” 

Another moment, and she had left him and sped 
back to Jerrold’s door- way. He was there to meet 
her, and Chester looked with grim and uncertain 
emotion at the radiance in her face. He had to get 
back to the office and to pass them: so, as civilly 


252 


FROM THE RANKS 


as he could, considering the weight of wrath and 
contempt he felt for the man, he stopped and spoke : 

“ Your fair advocate has been all-powerful, Mr. 
Jerrold. I congratulate you; and your arrest is 
at an end. Captain Armitage will require no duty 
of you until we are aboard ; but we’ve only half an 
hour. The train is coming sharp at noon.” 

“ Train ! What train ! Where are you going?” 
she asked, a wild anxiety in her eyes, a sudden 
pallor on her face. 

“We are ordered post-haste to Colorado, Nina, 
to rescue what is left of Thornton’s men. But for 
you I should have been left behind.” 

“ But for me ! — left behind !” she cried. “ Oh, 
Howard, Howard ! have I only — only won you to 
send you into danger ? Oh, my darling ! Oh, God ! 
don’t — don’t go! They will kill you. It will kill 
me! Oh, what have I done? what have I done?” 

“ Nina, hush ! My honor is with the regiment. 
I must go, child. We’ll be back in a few weeks. 
Indeed, I fear ’twill all be over before we get there. 
Nina , don’t look so ! Don’t act so ! Think where 
you are !” 

But she had borne too much, and the blow came 
all too soon, — too heavy. She was wellnigh sense- 
less when the Beaubien carriage came whirling into 


FROM THE RANKS 


253 

the fort and old Maman rushed forth in voluble and 
rabid charge upon her daughter. All too late! it 
was useless now. Her darling’s heart was weaned 
away, and her love lavished on that tall, objection- 
able young soldier so soon to go forth to battle. 
Reproaches, tears, wrath, were all in order, but 
were abandoned at sight of poor Nina’s agony of 
grief. Noon came, and the train, and with buoyant 
tread the gallant command marched down the 
winding road and filed aboard the cars, and 
Howard Jerrold, shame-stricken, humbled at the 
contemplation of his own unworthiness, slowly un- 
clasped her arms from about his neck, laid one long 
kiss upon her white and quivering lips, took one 
brief look in the great, dark, haunting, despairing 
eyes, and carried her wail of anguish ringing in his 
ears as he sprang aboard and was whirled away. 

But there were women who deemed themselves 
worse off than Nina Beaubien, — the wives and 
daughters and sweethearts whom she met that 
morn in town; for when they got back to Sibley 
the regiment was miles away. For them there was 
not even a kiss from the lips of those they loved. 
Time and train waited for no woman. There were 
comrades battling for life in the Colorado Rockies, 
and aid could not come too soon. 


CHAPTER XVII 


Under the cloudless heavens, under the' starlit 
skies, blessing the grateful dew that cools the up- 
land air and moistens the bunch-grass that has been 
bleaching all day in the fierce rays of the summer 
sun, a little column of infantry is swinging steadily 
southward. Long and toilsome has been the 
march; hot, dusty, and parching the day. Halts 
have been few and far between, and every man, 
from the colonel down, is coated with a gray mask 
of powdered alkali, the contribution of a two hours’ 
tramp through Deadman’s Canon just before the 
sun went down. Now, however, they are climbing 
the range. The morrow will bring them to the 
broad and beautiful valley of the Spirit Wolf, and 
there they must have news. Officers and men are 
footsore and weary, but no one begs for rest. Colo- 
nel Maynard, riding ahead on a sorry hack he 
picked up at the station two days’ long march be- 
hind them, is eager to reach the spring at Forest 
Glade before ordering bivouac for the night. A 
week agone no one who saw him at Sablon would 
254 


FROM THE RANKS 


255 


have thought the colonel fit for a march like this; 
but he seems rejuvenate. His head is high, his 
eye as bright, his bearing as full of spirit, as man’s 
could possibly be at sixty, and the whole regiment 
cheered him when he caught the column at Omaha. 
A talk with Chester and Armitage seemed to have 
made a new man of him, and to-night he is full of 
an energy that inspires the entire command. 
Though they were farther away than many other 
troops ordered to the scene, the fact that their sta- 
tion was on the railway and that they could be sent 
by special trains to Omaha and thence to the West 
enabled them to begin their rescue-march ahead of 
all the other foot-troops and behind only the power- 
ful command of cavalry that was whirled to the 
scene the moment the authorities woke up to the 
fact that it should have been sent in the first place. 
Old Maynard would give his very ears to get to 
Thornton’s corral ahead of them, but the cavalry 
has thirty-six hours’ start and four legs to two. 
Every moment he looks ahead expectant of tidings 

from the front that shall tell him the th were 

there and the remnant rescued. Even then, he 
knows, he and his long Springfields will be needed. 
The cavalry can fight their way in to the succor of 
the besieged, but once there will be themselves sur- 


256 


FROM THE RANKS 


rounded and too few in numbers to begin aggres- 
sive movements. He and his will indeed be wel- 
come reinforcements ; and so they trudge ahead. 

The moon is up and it is nearly ten o’clock when 
high up on the rolling divide the springs are 
reached, and, barely waiting to quench their thirst 
in the cooling waters, the wearied men roll them- 
selves in their blankets under the giant trees, and, 
guarded by a few outlying pickets, are soon asleep. 
Most of the officers have sprawled around a little 
fire and are burning their boot-leather thereat. The 
colonel, his adjutant, and the doctor are curled up 
under a tent-fly that serves by day as a wrap for 
the rations and cooking-kit they carry on pack- 
mule. Two company commanders, — the Alpha and 
Omega of the ten, as Major Sloat dubbed them, — 
the senior and junior in rank, Chester and Armi- 
tage by name, have rolled themselves in their 
blankets under another tent-fly and are chatting in 
low tones before dropping off to sleep. They have 
been inseparable on the journey thus far, and the 
colonel has had two or three long talks with them ; 
but who knows what the morrow may bring forth ? 
There is still much to settle. 

One officer, he of the guard, is still afoot, and 
trudging about among the trees, looking after his 


FROM THE RANKS 


25 7 

sentries. Another officer, also alone, is sitting in 
silence smoking a pipe : it is Mr. Jerrold. 

Cleared though he is of the charges originally 
brought against him in the minds of his colonel and 
Captain Chester, he has lost caste with his fellows 
and with them. Only two or three men have been 
made aware of the statement which acquitted him, 
but every one knows instinctively that he was saved 
by Nina Beaubien, and that in accepting his release 
at her hands he had put her to a cruel expense. 
Every man among his brother officers knows in 
some way that he has been acquitted of having 
compromised Alice Renwick’s fair fame only by an 
alibi that correspondingly harmed another. The 
fact now generally known, that they were be- 
trothed, and that the engagement was openly an- 
nounced, made no difference. Without being able 
to analyze his conduct, the regiment was satisfied 
that it had been selfish and contemptible ; and that 
was enough to warrant giving him the cold shoul- 
der. He was quick to see and take the hint, and, 
in bitter distress of mind, to withdraw himself from 
their companionship. He had hoped and expected 
that his eagerness to go with them on the wild and 
sudden campaign would reinstate him in their good 
graces, but it failed utterly. “ Any man would 


FROM THE RANKS 


258 

seek that ” was the verdict of the informal council 
held by the officers. “ He would have been a pol- 
troon if he hadn’t sought to go ; but, while he isn’t 
a poltroon, he has done a contemptible thing.” 
And so it stood. Rollins had cut him dead, refused 
his hand and denied him a chance to explain. 
“ Tell him he can’t explain,” was the savage reply 
he sent by the adjutant, who consented to carry 
Jerrold’s message in order that he might have fair 
play. “ He knows, without explanation, the wrong 
he has done to more than one. I won’t have any- 
thing to do with him.” 

Others avoided him, and only coldly spoke to him 
when speech was necessary. Chester treated him 
with marked aversion ; the colonel would not look 
at him ; only Armitage — his captain — had a decent 
word for him at any time, and even he was stern 
and cold. The most envied and careless of the en- 
tire command, the Adonis, the beau, the crack shot, 
the graceful leader in all garrison gayeties, the 
beautiful dancer, rider, tennis-player, the adored 
of so many sentimental women at Sibley, poor Jer- 
rold had found his level, and his proud and sensi- 
tive though selfish heart was breaking. 

Sitting alone under the trees, he had taken a 
sheet of paper from his pocket-case and was 


FROM THE RANKS 


^59 


writing by the light of the rising moon. One letter 
was short and easily written, for with a few. words 
he had brought it to a close, then folded and in a 
bold and vigorous hand addressed it. The other 
was far longer ; and over this one, thinking deeply, 
erasing some words and pondering much over 
others, he spent a long hour. It was nearly mid- 
night, and he was chilled to the heart, when he 
stiffly rose and took his way among the blanketed 
groups to the camp-fire around which so many of 
his wearied comrades were sleeping the sleep of the 
tired soldier. Here he tore to fragments and scat- 
tered in the embers some notes and letters that were 
in his pockets. They blazed up brightly, and by 
the glare he stood one moment studying young 
Rollins’s smooth and placid features; then he 
looked around on the unconscious circle of bronzed 
and bearded faces. There were many types of 
soldier there, — men who had led brigades through 
the great war and gone back to the humble bars of 
the line-officer at its close ; men who had led fierce 
charges against the swarming Indians in the rough 
old days of the first prairie railways ; men who had 
won distinction and honorable mention in hard and 
trying frontier service; men who had their faults 
and foibles and weaknesses like other men, and 


26 o 


FROM THE RANKS 


were aggressive or compliant, strong-willed or 
yielding, overbearing or meek, as are their brethren 
in other walks of life; men who were simple of 
heart, single in purpose and ambition, diverse in 
characteristics, but unanimous in one trait, — no 
meanness could live among them; and Jerrold’s 
heart sank within him, colder, lower, stonier than 
before, as he looked from face to face and cast up 
mentally the sum of each man’s character. His 
hospitality had been boundless, his bounty lavish; 
one and all they had eaten of his loaf and drunk of 
his cup ; but was there among them one who could 
say of him, “ He is generous and I stand his 
friend”? Was there one of them, one of theirs, 
for whom he had ever denied himself a pleasure, 
great or small ? He looked at poor old Gray, with 
his wrinkled, anxious face, and thought of his dis- 
tress of mind. Only a few thousands — not three 
years’ pay — had the veteran scraped and saved and 
stored away for his little girl, whose heart was 
aching with its first cruel sorrow , — his work, his 
undoing, his cursed, selfish greed for adulation, his 
reckless love of love. The morrow’s battle, if it 
came, might leave her orphaned and alone, and, 
poor as it was, a father’s pitying sympathy could 
not be her help with the coming year. Would 


FROM THE RANKS 


261 


Gray mourn him if the fortune of war made him 
the victim? Would any one of those averted faces 
look with pity and regret upon his stiffening form ? 
Would there be any one on earth to whom his death 
would be a sorrow, but Nina? Would it even be a 
blow to her ? She loved him wildly, he knew that ; 
but would she did she but dream the truth? He 
knew her nature well. He knew how quickly such 
burning love could turn to fiercest hate when con- 
vinced that the object was utterly untrue. He had 
said nothing to her of the photograph, nothing at 
all of Alice except to protest time and again that 
his attentions to her were solely to win the good 
will of the colonel’s family and of the colonel him- 
self, so that he might be proof against the machina- 
tions of his foes. And yet had he not, that very 
night on which he crossed the stream and let her 
peril her name and honor for one stolen interview 
— had he not gone to her exultant welcome with a 
traitorous knowledge gnawing at his heart ? That 
very night, before they parted at the colonel’s door 
had he not lied to Alice Renwick ? — had he not de- 
nied the story of his devotion to Miss Beaubien, 
and was not his practised eye watching eagerly the 
beautiful dark face for one sign that the news was 
welcome, and so precipitate the avowal trembling 


262 


FROM THE RANKS 


on his lips that it was her he madly loved, — not 
Nina? Though she hurriedly bade him good- 
night, though she was unprepared for any such an- 
nouncement, he well knew that Alice Renwick’s 
heart fluttered at the earnestness of his manner, 
and that he had indicated far more than he had 
said. Fear — not love — had drawn him to Nina 
Beaubien that night, and hope had centred on her 
more beautiful rival, when the discoveries of the 
night involved him in the first trembling symptoms 
of the downfall to come. And he was to have spent 
the morning with her, the woman to whom he had 
lied in word, while she to whom he had lied in 
word and deed was going from him, not to return 
until the german, and even then he planned 
treachery. He meant to lead with Alice Renwick 
and claim that it must be with the colonel’s daugh- 
ter because the ladies of the garrison were the 
givers. Then, he knew, Nina would not come at 
all, and, possibly, might quarrel with him on that 
ground. What could have been an easier solution 
of his troublous predicament? She would break 
their secret engagement; he would refuse all re- 
conciliation, and be free to devote himself to Alice. 
But all these grave complications had arisen. Alice 
would not come. Nina wrote demanding that he 


FROM THE RANKS 263 

should lead with her, and that he should meet her 
at St. Croix; and then came the crash. He owed 
his safety to her self-sacrifice, and now must give 
up all hope of Alice Renwick. He had accepted 
the announcement of their engagement. He could 
not do less, after all that had happened and the 
painful scene at their parting. And yet would it 
not be a blessing to her if he were killed? Even 
now in his self-abnegation and misery he did not 
fully realize how mean he was, — how mean he 
seemed to others. He resented in his heart what 
Sloat had said of him but the day before, little 
caring whether he heard it or not : “ It would be 
a mercy to that poor girl if Jerrold were killed. He 
will break her heart with neglect, or drive her mad 
with jealousy, inside of a year.” But the regiment 
seemed to agree with Sloat. 

And so in all that little band of comrades he 
could call no man friend. One after another he 
looked upon the unconscious faces, cold and averted 
in the oblivion of sleep, but not more cold, not more 
distrustful, than when he had vainly sought among 
them one relenting glance in the early moonlight 
that battle eve in bivouac. He threw his arms up- 
ward, shook his head with hopeless gesture, then 
he buried his face in the sleeves of his rough 


264 


FROM THE RANKS 


campaign overcoat and strode blindly from their 
midst. 

Early in the morning, an hour before daybreak, 
the shivering outpost crouching in a hollow to the 
southward catch sight of two dim figures shooting 
suddenly up over a distant ridge, — horsemen, they 
know at a glance, — and these two come loping 
down the moonlit trail over which two nights be- 
fore had marched the cavalry speeding to the 
rescue, over which in an hour the regiment itself 
must be on the move. Old campaigners are two of 
the picket, and they have been especially cautioned 
to be on the lookout for couriers coming back along 
the trail. They spring to their feet, in readiness to 
welcome or repel, as the sentry rings out his sharp 
and sudden challenge. 

“ Couriers from the corral,” is the jubilant an- 
swer. “ This Colonel Maynard’s outfit ?” 

“ Ay, ay, sonny,” is the unmilitary but charac- 
teristic answer. “ What’s your news ?” 

“ Got there in time, and saved what’s left of ’em ; 
but it’s a hell-hole, and you fellows are wanted 
quick as you can come, — thirty miles ahead. 
Where’s the colonel ?” 

The corporal of the guard goes back to the 
bivouac, leading the two arrivals. One is a scout, 


FROM THE RANKS 265 

a plainsman born and bred, the other a sergeant of 
cavalry. They dismount in the timber and picket 
their horses, then follow on foot the lead of their 
companion of the guard. While the corporal and 
the scout proceed to the wagon-fly and fumble at 
the opening, the tall sergeant stands silently a little 
distance in their rear, and the occupants of a neigh- 
boring shelter — the counterpart of the colonel’s — 
begin to stir, as though their light slumber had been 
broken by the smothered sound of footsteps. One 
of them sits up and peers out at the front, gazing 
earnestly at the tall figure standing easily there in 
the flickering light. Then he hails in low tones : 

“ That you, Mr. Jerrold? What is the matter?” 
And the tall figure faces promptly towards the 
hailing voice. The spurred heels come together 
with a click, the gauntleted hand rises in soldierly 
salute to the broad brim of the scouting-hat, and a 
deep voice answers, respectfully, — 

“ It is not Mr. Jerrold, sir. It is Sergeant Mc- 
Leod, th Cavalry, just in with despatches.” 

Armitage springs to his feet, sheds his shell of 
blankets, and steps forth into the glade with his 
eyes fixed eagerly on the shadowy form in front. 
He peers under the broad brim, as though striving 
to see the eyes and features of the tall dragoon. 


266 


FROM THE RANKS 


“ Did you get there in time?” he asks, half won- 
dering whether that was really the question upper- 
most in his mind. 

“ In time to save the survivors, sir ; but no at- 
tack will be made until the infantry get there.” 

“ Were you not at Sibley last month?” asks the 
captain, quickly. 

“ Yes, sir, — with the competitors.” 

“ You went back before your regimental team, 
did you not?” 

“ I No, sir : I went back with them.” 

“ You were relieved from duty at Sibley and or- 
dered back before them, were you not ?” 

Even in the pallid light Armitage could see the 
hesitation, the flurry of surprise and distress, in the 
sergeant’s face. 

“ Don’t fear to tell me, man : I would rather 
hear it than any news you could give me. I would 
rather know you were not Sergeant McLeod than 
any fact you could tell. Speak low, man, but tell 
me here and now. Whatever motive you may have 
had for this disguise, whatever anger or sorrows in 
the past, you must sink them now to save the honor 
of the woman your madness has perilled. Answer 
me, for your sister’s sake: are you not Fred Ren- 
wick?” 


FROM THE RANKS 267 

Do you swear to me she is in danger?” 

By all that’s sacred; and you ought to know 


I am Fred Renwick. Now what can I do?” 


CHAPTER XVIII 


The sun is not an hour high, but the bivouac at 
the springs is far behind. With advance-guard and 
flankers well out, the regiment is tramping its way, 
full of eagerness and spirit. The men can hardly 
refrain from bursting into song, but, although at 
“ route step,” the fact that Indian scouts have al- 
ready been sighted scurrying from bluff to bluff 
is sufficient to warn all hands to be silent and alert. 
Wilton with his company is on the dangerous flank, 
and guards it well. Armitage with Company B 
covers the advance, and his men are strung out in 
long skirmish-line across the trail wherever the 
ground is sufficiently open to admit of deployment. 
Where it is not, they spring ahead and explore 
every point where Indian may lurk, and render am- 
buscade of the main column impossible. With 
Armitage is McLeod, the cavalry sergeant who 
made the night ride with the scout who bore the 
despatches. The scout has galloped on towards the 
railway with news of the rescue, the sergeant 
guides the infantry reinforcement. Observant men 
268 


FROM THE RANKS 


269 


have noted that Armitage and the sergeant have 
had a vast deal to say to each other during the chill 
hours of the early morn. Others have noted that 
at the first brief halt the captain rode back, called 
Colonel Maynard to one side, and spoke to him in 
low tones. The colonel was seen to start with as- 
tonishment. Then he said a few words to his 
second in command, and rode forward with Armi- 
tage to join the advance. When the regiment 
moved on again and the head of column hove in 
sight of the skirmishers, they saw that the colonel, 
Armitage, and the sergeant of cavalry were riding 
side by side, and that the officers were paying close 
attention to all the dragoon was saying. All were 
eager to hear the particulars of the condition of 
affairs at the corral, and all were disposed to be 
envious of the mounted captain who could ride 
alongside the one participant in the rescuing charge 
and get it all at first hand. The field-officers, of 
course, were mounted, but every line-officer 
marched afoot with his men, except that three 
horses had been picked up at the railway and im- 
pressed by the quartermaster in case of need, and 
these were assigned to the captains who happened 
to command the skirmishers and flankers. 

But no man had the faintest idea what manner 


270 


FROM THE RANKS 


of story that tall sergeant was telling. It would 
have been of interest to every soldier in the com- 
mand, but to no one so much so as to the two who 
were his absorbed listeners. Armitage, before their 
.early march, had frankly and briefly set before him 
,his suspicions as to the case, and the trouble in 
which Miss Renwick was involved. No time was 
to be lost. Any moment might find them plunged 
in fierce battle ; and who could foretell the results ? 
— who could say what might happen to prevent this 
her vindication ever reaching the ears of her ac- 
cusers? Some men wondered why it was that 
Colonel Maynard sent his compliments to Captain 
Chester and begged that at the next halt he would 
join him. The halt did not come for a long hour, 
and when it did come it was very brief, but Chester 
received another message, and went forward to find 
his colonel sitting in a little grove with the cavalry- 
man, while the orderly held their horses a short 
space away. Armitage had gone forward to his 
advance, and Chester showed no surprise at the 
sight of the sergeant seated side by side with the 
colonel and in confidential converse with him. 
There was a quaint, sly twinkle in Maynard’s eyes 
as he greeted his old friend. 

“ Chester,” said he, “ I want you to be better ac- 


FROM THE RANKS 


271 

quainted with my step-son, Mr. Renwick. He has 
an apology to make to you.” 

The tall soldier had risen the instant he caught 
sight of the newcomer, and even at the half-playful 
tone of the colonel would relax in no degree his 
soldierly sense of the proprieties. He stood erect 
and held his hand at the salute, only very slowly 
lowering it to take the one so frankly extended him 
by the captain, who, however, was grave and quiet. 

“ I have suspected as much since daybreak,” he 
said ; “ and no man is gladder to know it is you 
than I am.” 

“ You would have known it before, sir, had I 
the faintest idea of the danger in which my fool- 
hardiness had involved my sister. The colonel has 
told you of my story. I have told him and Captain 
Armitage what led to my mad freak at Sibley; 
and, while I have much to make amends for, I 
want to apologize for the blow I gave you that 
night on the terrace. I was far more scared than 
you were, sir.” 

“ I think we can afford to forgive him, Chester. 
He knocked us both out,” said the colonel. 

Chester bowed gravely. “ That was the easiest 
part of the affair to forgive,” he said, “ and it is 
hardly for me, I presume, to be the only one to 


272 


FROM THE RANKS 


blame the sergeant for the trouble that has involved 
us all, especially your household, colonel.” 

“ It was expensive masquerading, to say the 
least,” replied the colonel ; “ but he never realized 
the consequences until Armitage told him to-day. 
You must hear his story in brief, Chester. It is 
needful that three or four of us know it, so that 
some may be left to set things right at Sibley. 
God grant us all safe return!” he added, piously, 
and with deep emotion. “ I can far better appre- 
ciate our home and happiness than I could a month 
ago. Now, Renwick, tell the captain what you 
have told us.” 

And briefly it was told: how in his youthful 
fury he had sworn never again to set foot within 
the door of the father and mother who had so 
wronged the poor girl he loved with boyish fervor ; 
how he called down the vengeance of heaven upon 
them in his frenzy and distress ; how he had sworn 
never again to set eyes on their faces. “ May God 
strike me dead if ever I return to this roof until she 
is avenged! May He deal with you as you have 
dealt with her!” was the curse that flew from his 
wild lips, and with that he left them, stunned. He 
went West, was soon penniless, and, caring not 
what he did, seeking change, adventure, anything 


FROM THE RANKS 


273 


to take him out of his past, he enlisted in the 

cavalry, and was speedily drafted to the th, 

which was just starting forth on a stirring summer 
campaign. He was a fine horseman, a fine shot, a 
man who instantly attracted the notice of his offi- 
cers : the campaign was full of danger, adventure, 
rapid and constant marching, and before he knew it 
or dreamed it possible he had become deeply inter- 
ested in his new life. Only in the monotony of a 
month or two in garrison that winter did the service 
seem intolerable. His comrades were rough, in the 
main, but thoroughly good-hearted, and he soon 
won their esteem. The spring sent them again into 
the field; another stirring campaign, and here he 
won his stripes, and words of praise from the lips of 
a veteran general officer, as well as the promise of 
future reward ; and then the love of soldierly deeds 
and the thirst for soldierly renown took firm hold 
in his breast. He began to turn towards the 
mother and father who had been wrapped up in his 
future, — who loved him so devotedly. He was 
forgetting his early and passionate love, and the 
bitter sorrow of her death was losing fast its poig- 
nant power to steel him against his kindred. He 
knew they could not but be proud of the record he 

had made in the ranks of the gallant th, and 

18 


274 FROM THE RANKS 

then he shrank and shivered when he recalled the 
dreadful words of his curse. He had made up his 
mind to write, implore pardon for his hideous and 
unfilial language, and invoke their interest in his 
career, when, returning to Fort Raines for supplies, 
he picked up a New York paper in the reading- 
room and read the announcement of his fathers 
death, “ whose health had been broken ever since 
the disappearance of his only son, two years be- 
fore.” The memory of his malediction had, in- 
deed, come home to him, and he fell, stricken by a 
sudden and unaccountable blow. It seemed as 
though his heart had given one wild leap, then 
stopped forever. Things did not go so well after 
this. He brooded over his words, and believed that 
an avenging God had launched the bolt that killed 
the father as punishment to the stubborn and 
recreant son. He then bethought him of his 
mother, of pretty Alice, who had loved him so as 
a little girl. He could not bring himself to write, 
but through inquiries he learned that the house was 
closed and that they had gone abroad. He plodded 
on in his duties a trying year: then came more 
lively field-work and reviving interest. He was 
forgetting entirely the sting of his first great sor- 
row, and mourning gravely the gulf he had placed 


FROM THE RANKS 


275 

’twixt him and his. He thought time and again 
of his cruel words, and something began to whisper 
to him he must see that mother again at once, kiss 
her hand, and implore her forgiveness, or she, too, 
would be stricken suddenly. He saved up his 
money, hoping that after the summer’s rifle-work 
at Sibley he might get a furlough and go East; 
and the night he arrived at the fort, tired with his 
long rail way- journey and panting after a long and 
difficult climb up-hill, his mother’s face swam sud- 
denly before his eyes, and he felt himself going 
down. When they brought him to, he heard that 
the ladies were Mrs. Maynard and her daughter 
Miss Renwick, — his own mother, remarried, his 
own Alice, a grown young woman. This was, in- 
deed, news to put him in a flutter and spoil his 
shooting. He realized at once that the gulf was 
wider than ever. How could he go to her now, 
the wife of a colonel, and he an enlisted man ? Like 
other soldiers, he forgot that the line of demarca- 
tion was one of discipline, not of sympathy. He 
did not realize what any soldier among his officers 
would gladly have told him, that he was most 
worthy to reveal himself now, — a non-commis- 
sioned officer whose record was an honor to him- 
self and to his regiment, a soldier of whom officers 


276 


FROM THE RANKS 


and comrades alike were proud. He never dreamed 
— indeed, how few there are who do ! — that a man 
of his character, standing, and ability is honored 
and respected by the very men whom the customs 
of the service require him to speak with only when 
spoken to. He supposed that only as Fred Ren- 
wick could he extend his hand to one of their num- 
ber, whereas it was under his soldier name he won 
their trust and admiration, and it was as Sergeant 

McLeod the officers of the th were backing 

him for a commission that would make him what 
they deemed him fit to be, — their equal. Unable 
to penetrate the armor of reserve and discipline 
which separates the officer from the rank and file, 
he never imagined that the colonel would have been 
the first to welcome him had he known the truth. 
He believed that now his last chance of seeing his 
mother was gone until that coveted commission 
was won. Then came another blow: the doctor 
told him that with his heart-trouble he could never 
pass the physical examination : he could not hope 
for preferment, then, and must see her as he was, 
and see her secretly and alone. Then came blow 
after blow. His shooting had failed, so had that of 
others of his regiment, and he was ordered to re- 
turn in charge of the party early on the morrow. 


FROM THE RANKS 


277 


The order reached him late in the evening, and be- 
fore breakfast-time on the following day he was 
directed to start with his party for town, thence by 
rail to his distant post. That night, in desperation, 
he made his plan. Twice before he had strolled 
down to the post and with yearning eyes had 
studied every feature of the colonel’s house. He 
dared ask no questions of servants or of the men 
in garrison, but he learned enough to know which 
rooms were theirs, and he had noted that the win- 
dows were always open. If he could only see their 
loved faces, kneel and kiss his mother’s hand, pray 
God to forgive him, he could go away believing 
that he had undone the spell and revoked the male- 
diction of his early youth. It was hazardous, but 
worth the danger. He could go in peace and sin 
no more towards mother, at least; and then if she 
mourned and missed him, could he not find it out 
some day and make himself known to her after his 
discharge? He slipped out of camp, leaving his 
boots behind, and wearing his light Apache moc- 
casins and flannel shirt and trousers. Danger to 
himself he had no great fear of. If by any chance 
mother or sister should wake, he had but to stretch 
forth his hand and say, “ It is only I, — Fred.” 
Danger to them he never dreamed of. 


FROM THE RANKS 


278 

Strong and athletic, despite his slender frame, he 
easily lifted the ladder from Jerrold’s fence, and, 
dodging the sentry when he spied him at the gate, 
finally took it down back of the colonel’s and raised 
it to a rear window. By the strangest chance the 
window was closed, and he could not budge it. 
Then he heard the challenge of a sentry around on 
the east front, and had just time to slip down and 
lower the ladder when he heard the rattle of a 
sword and knew it must be the officer of the day. 
There was no time to carry off the ladder. He left 
it lying where it was, and sprang down the steps 
towards the station. Soon he heard Number Five 
challenge, and knew the officer had passed on : he 
waited some time, but nothing occurred to indicate 
that the ladder was discovered, and then, plucking 
up courage and with a muttered prayer for guid- 
ance and protection, he stole up-hill again, raised 
the ladder to the west wall, noiselessly ascended, 
peered in Alice’s window and could see a faint 
night-light burning in the hall beyond, but that all 
was darkness there, stole around on the roof of the 
piazza to the hall window, stepped noiselessly upon 
the sill, climbed over the lowered sash, and found 
himself midway between the rooms. He could 
hear the colonel’s placid snoring and the regular 


FROM THE RANKS 


279 


breathing of the other sleepers. No time was to be 
lost. Shading the little night-lamp with one hand, 
he entered the open door, stole to the bedside, took 
one long look at his mother’s face, knelt, breathed 
upon, but barely brushed with his trembling lips, 
the queenly white hand that lay upon the coverlet, 
poured forth one brief prayer to God for protec- 
tion and blessing for her and forgiveness for him, 
retraced his steps, and caught sight of the lovely 
picture of Alice in the Directoire costume. He 
longed for it and could not resist. She had grown 
so beautiful, so exquisite. He took it, frame and 
all, carried it into her room, slipped the card from 
its place and hid it inside the breast of his shirt, 
stowed the frame away behind her sofa-pillow, then 
looked long at the lovely picture she herself made, 
lying there sleeping sweetly and peacefully amid 
the white drapings of her dainty bed. Then ’twas 
time to go. He put the lamp back in the hall, 
passed through her room, out at her window, and 
down the ladder, and had it well on the way back 
to the hooks on Jerrold’s fence when seized and 
challenged by the officer of the day. Mad terror 
possessed him then. He struck blindly, dashed off 
in panicky flight, paid no heed to sentry’s cry or 
whistling missile, but tore like a racer up the path 


28 q 


FROM THE RANKS 


and never slackened speed till Sibley was far be- 
hind. 

When morning came, the order that they should 
go was temporarily suspended: some prisoners 
were sent to a neighboring military prison, and he 
was placed in charge, and on his return from this 
duty learned that the colonel’s family had gone to 
Sablon. The next thing there was some strange 
talk that worried him, — a story that one of the 
men who had a sweetheart who was second girl at 
Mrs. Hoyt’s brought out to camp, — a story that 
there was an officer who was too much in love with 
Alice to keep away from the house even after the 
colonel so ordered, and that he was prowling 
around the other night and the colonel ordered 
Leary to shoot him, — Leary, who was on post on 
Number Five. He felt sure that something was 
wrong, — felt sure that it was due to his night visit, 
— and his first impulse was to find his mother and 
confide the truth to her. He longed to see her 
again, and, if harm had been done, to make him- 
self known and explain everything. Having no 
duties to detain him, he got a pass to visit town and 
permission to be gone a day or more. On Saturday 
evening he ran down to Sablon, drove over, as Cap- 
tain Armitage had already told them, and, peering 


FROM THE RANKS 


281 


in his mother’s room, saw her, still up, though in 
her night-dress. He never dreamed of the colonel’s 
being out and watching. He had “ scouted” all 
those trees, and no one was nigh. Then he softly, 
called; she heard, and was coming to him, when 
again came fierce attack: he had all a soldier’s 
reverence for the person of the colonel, and would 
never have harmed him had he known ’twas he: 
it was the night watchman that had grappled with 
him, he supposed, and he had no compunctions in 
sending him to grass. Then he fled again, know- 
ing that he had only made bad worse, walked all 
that night to the station next north of Sablon, — 
a big town where the early morning train always 
stopped, — and by ten on Sunday morning he was 
in uniform again and off with his regimental com- 
rades under orders to haste to their station, — there 
was trouble with the Indians at Spirit Rock and 

the th were held in readiness. From beneath 

his scouting-shirt he drew a flat packet, an Indian 
case, which he carefully unrolled, and there in its 
wrappings was the lovely Directoire photograph. 

Whose, then, was the one that Sloat had seen in 
Jerrold’s room? It was this that Armitage had 
gone forward to determine, and he found his sad- 
eyed lieutenant with the skirmishers. 


282 


FROM THE RANKS 


“Jerrold,” said he, with softened manner, “a 
Strange thing is brought to light this morning, and 
I lose no time in telling you. The man who was 
seen at Maynard’s quarters, coming from Miss 
Renwick’s room, was her own brother and the colo- 
nel’s step-son. He was the man who took the pho- 
tograph from Mrs. Maynard’s room, and has 
proved it this very day, — this very hour.” Jerrold 
glanced up in sudden surprise. “ He is with us 
now, and only one thing remains, which you can 
clear up. We are going into action, and I may not 
get through, nor you, nor — who knows who ? Will 
you tell us now how you came by your copy of that 
photograph?” 

For answer Jerrold fumbled in his pocket a mo- 
ment and drew forth two letters : 

“ I wrote these last night, and it was my inten- 
tion to see that you had them before it grew very 
hot. One is addressed to you, the other to Miss 
Beaubien. You had better take them now,” he 
said, wearily. “ There may be no time to talk 
after this. Send hers after it’s over, and don’t 
read yours until then.” 

“ Why, I don’t understand this, exactly,” said 
Armitage, puzzled. “ Can’t you tell me about the 
picture ?” 


FROM THE RANKS 


283 


“ No. I promised not to while I lived ; but it’s 
the simplest matter in the world, and no one at the 
colonel’s had any hand in it. They never saw this 
one that I got to show Sloat. It is burned now. I 
said ’twas given me. That was hardly the truth. 
I have paid for it dearly enough.” 

“ And this note explains it ?” 

“ Yes. You can read it to-morrow.” 


CHAPTER XIX 


And the morrow has come. Down in a deep 
and bluff-shadowed valley, hung all around with 
picturesque crags and pine-crested heights, under 
a cloudless September sun whose warmth is tem- 
pered by the mountain-breeze, a thousand rough- 
looking, bronzed and bearded and powder-black- 
ened men are resting after battle. 

Here and there on distant ridge and point the 
cavalry vedettes keep vigilant watch against sur- 
prise or renewed attack. Down along the banks 
of a clear, purling stream a sentry paces slowly by 
the brown line of rifles, swivel-stacked in the sun- 
shine. Men by the dozen are washing their blis- 
tered feet and grimy hands and faces in the cool, 
refreshing water; men by the dozen lie soundly 
sleeping, some in the broad glare, some in the 
shade of the little clump of willows, all heedless of 
the pestering swarms of flies. Out on the broad, 
grassy slopes, side-lined and watched by keen-eyed 
guards, the herds of cavalry horses are quietly 
grazing, forgetful of the wild excitement of yester- 
even. Every now and then some one of them lifts 
284 


FROM THE RANKS 


285 

his head, pricks up his ears, and snorts and stamps 
suspiciously as he sniffs at the puffs of smoke that 
come drifting up the valley from the fires a mile 
away. The waking men, too, bestow an occasional 
comment on the odor which greets their nostrils. 
Down-stream where the fires are burning are the 
blackened remnants of a wagon-train : tires, bolts, 
and axles are lying about, but all wood-work is in 
smouldering ashes; so, too, is all that remains of 
several hundred-weight of stores and supplies des- 
tined originally to nourish the Indians, but, by 
them, diverted to feed the fire. 

There is a big circle of seething flame and rolling 
smoke here, too, — a malodorous neighborhood, 
around which fatigue-parties are working with 
averted heads; and among them some surly and 
unwilling Indians, driven to labor at the muzzle 
of threatening revolver or carbine, aid in drag- 
ging to the flames carcass after carcass of horse and 
mule, and in gathering together and throwing on 
the pyre an array of miscellaneous soldier gar- 
ments, blouses, shirts, and trousers, all more or less 
hacked and blood-stained, — all of no more use to 
mortal wearer. 

Out on the southern slopes, just where a ravine 
crowded with wild-rose bushes opens into the 


286 


FROM THE RANKS 


valley, more than half the command is gathered, 
formed in rectangular lines about a number of shal- 
low, elongated pits, in each of which there lies the 
stiffening form of a comrade who but yesterday 
joined in the battle-cheer that burst upon the val- 
ley with the setting sun. Silent and reverent they 
stand in their rough campaign garb. The escort of 
infantry “ rests on arms ;” the others bow their 
uncovered heads, and it is the voice of the veteran 
colonel that, in accents trembling with sympathy 
and emotion, renders the last tribute to fallen com- 
rades and lifts to heaven the prayers for the dead. 
Then see ! The mourning groups break away from 
the southern side; the brown rifles of the escort 
are lifted in air ; the listening rocks resound to the 
sudden ring of the flashing volley; the soft, low, 
wailing good-by of the trumpets goes floating up 
the vale, and soon the burial-parties are left alone 
to cover the once familiar faces with the earth to 
which the soldier must return, and the comrades 
who are left, foot and dragoon, come marching, 
silent, back to camp. 

And when the old regiment begins its homeward 
journey, leaving the well- won field to the fast- 
arriving commands and bidding hearty soldier fare- 
well to the cavalry comrades whose friendship they 


FROM THE RANKS 


28 7 


gainea in the front of a savage foe, the company 
that was the first to land its fire in the fight goes 
back with diminished numbers and under command 
of its second lieutenant. Alas, poor Jerrold ! 

There is a solemn little group around the camp- 
fire the night before they go. Frank Armitage, 
flat on his back, with a rifle-bullet through his 
thigh, but taking things very coolly for all that, is 
having a quiet conference with his colonel. Such 
of the wounded of the entire command as are well 
enough to travel by easy stages to the railway go 
with Maynard and the regiment in the morning, 
and Sergeant McLeod, with his sabre-arm in a 
sling, is one of these. But the captain of Company 
B must wait until the surgeons can lift him along in 
an ambulance and all fear of fever has subsided. 
To the colonel and Chester he hands the note which 
is all that is left to comfort poor Nina Beaubien. 
To them he reads aloud the note addressed to him- 
self : 

“ You are right in saying that the matter of my 
possession of that photograph should be explained. 
I seek no longer to palliate my action. In making 
that puppyish bet with Sloat I did believe that I 
could induce Miss Renwick or her mother to let 
me have a copy; but I was refused so positively 


288 


FROM THE RANKS 


that I knew it was useless. This simply added to 
my desire to have one. The photographer was the 
same that took the pictures and furnished the 
albums for our class at graduation, and I, more 
than any one, had been instrumental in getting the 
order for him against very active opposition. He 
had always professed the greatest gratitude to me 
and a willingness to do anything for me. I wrote 
to him in strict confidence, told him of the intimate 
and close relations existing between the colonel's 
family and me, told him I wanted it to enlarge and 
present to her mother on her approaching birthday, 
and promised him that I would never reveal how 
I came by the picture so long as I lived ; and he sent 
me one, — just in time. Have I not paid heavily for 
my sin ?” 

No one spoke for a moment. Chester was the 
first to break the silence : 

“ Poor fellow ! He kept his word to the photog- 
rapher ; but what was it worth to a woman ?” 

There had been a week of wild anxiety and ex- 
citement at Sibley. It was known through the col- 
umns of the press that the regiment had hurried 
forward from the railway the instant it reached the 
Colorado trail, that it could not hope to get through 
to the valley of the Spirit Wolf without a fight, and 


FROM THE RANKS 


289 


that the moment it succeeded in joining hands with 
the cavalry already there a vigorous attack would 
be made on the Indians. The news of the rescue of 
the survivors of Thornton’s command came first, 
and with it the tidings that Maynard and his regi- 
ment were met only thirty miles from the scene and 
were pushing forward. The next news came two 
days later, and a wail went up even while men were 
shaking hands and rejoicing over the gallant fight 
that had been made, and women were weeping for 
joy and thanking God that those whom they held 
dearest were safe. It was down among the wives 
of the sergeants and other veterans that the blow 
struck hardest at Sibley; for the stricken officers 
were unmarried men, while among the rank and 
file there were several who never came back to the 
little ones who bore their name. Company B had 
suffered most, for the Indians had charged fiercely 
on its deployed but steadfast line. Armitage al- 
most choked and broke down when telling the colo- 
nel about it that night as he lay under the willows : 
“ It was the first smile I had seen on his face since 
I got back, — that with which he looked up in my 
eyes and whispered good-by, — and died, — just 
after we drove them back. My turn came later.” 
Old Sloate, too, “ had his customary crack,” as he 


IQ 


290 


FROM THE RANKS 


expressed it, — a shot through the wrist that made 
him hop and swear savagely until some of the men 
got to laughing at the comical figure he cut, and 
then he turned and damned them with hearty good 
will, and seemed all oblivious of the bullets that 
went zipping past his frosting head. Young Rol- 
lins, to his inexpressible pride and comfort, had a 
bullet-hole through his scouting-hat and another 
through his shoulder-strap that raised a big welt 
on the white skin beneath, but, to the detriment of 
promotion, no captain was killed, and Jerrold gave 
the only file. 

The one question at Sibley was, “ What will 
Nina Beaubien do?” 

She did nothing. She would see nobody from 
the instant the news came. She had hardly slept at 
night, — was always awake at dawn and out at the 
gate to get the earliest copy of the morning papers ; 
but the news reached them at nightfall, and when 
some of the ladies from the fort drove in to offer 
their sympathy and condolence in the morning, and 
to make tender inquiry, the answer at the door was 
that Miss Nina saw nobody, that her mother alone 
was with her, and that “ she was very still.” And 
so it went for some days. Then there came the 
return of the command to Sibley ; and hundreds of 


FROM THE RANKS 


291 

people went up from town to see the six companies 
of the fort garrison march up the winding road 
amid the thunder of welcome from the guns of the 
light battery and the exultant strains of the band. 
Mrs. Maynard and Alice were the only ladies of the 
circle who were not there : a son and brother had 
joined them, after long absence, at Aunt Grace’s 
cottage at Sablon, was the explanation, and the 
colonel would bring them home in a few days, after 
he had attended to some important matters at the 
fort. In the first place, Chester had to see to it 
that the tongue of scandal was slit, so far as the 
colonel’s household was concerned, and all good 
people notified that no such thing had happened as 
was popularly supposed (and “ everybody” re- 
ceived the announcement with the remark that she 
knew all along it couldn’t be so), and that a griev- 
ous and absurd but most mortifying blunder had 
been made. It was a most unpleasant ghost to 
“ down,” the shadow of that scandal, for it would 
come up to the surface of garrison chat at all man- 
ner of confidential moments ; but no man or woman 
could safely speak of it to Chester. It was gradu- 
ally assumed that he was the man who had done 
all the blundering and that he was supersensitive on 
the subject. 


292 


FROM THE RANKS 


There was another thing never satisfactorily ex- 
plained to some of the garrison people, and that was 
Nina Beaubien’s strange conduct. In less than a 
week she was seen on the street in colors, — brilliant 
colors, — when it was known she had ordered deep 
mourning, and then she suddenly disappeared and 
went with her silent old mother abroad. To this 
day no woman in society understands it, for when 
she came back, long, long afterwards, it was a sub- 
ject on which she would never speak. There were 
one or two who ventured to ask, and the answer 
was, “ For reasons that concern me alone.” But it 
took no great power of mental vision to see that 
her heart wore black for him forever. 

His letter explained it all. She had received it 
with a paroxysm of passionate grief and joy, kissed 
it, covered it with wildest caresses before she began 
to read, and then, little by little, as the words un- 
folded before her staring eyes, turned cold as stone : 

“ It is my last night of life, Nina, and I am glad 
’tis so. Proud and sensitive as I am, the knowledge 
that every man in my regiment has turned from 
me, — that I have not a friend among them, — that 
there is no longer a place for me in their midst, — 
more than all, that I deserve their contempt, — has 
broken my heart. We will be in battle before the 


FROM THE RANKS 


293 


setting of another sun. Any man who seeks death 
in Indian fight can find it easily enough, and I can 
compel their respect in spite of themselves. They 
will not recognize me, living, as one of them; but 
dying on the field, they have to place me on their 
roll of honor. 

“ But now I turn to you. What have I been, — 
what am I, — to have won such love as yours? 
May God in heaven forgive me for my past ! All 
too late I hate and despise the man I have been, — 
the man whom you loved. One last act of justice 
remains. If I died without it you would mourn 
me faithfully, tenderly, lovingly, for years, but if I 
tell the truth you will see the utter unworthiness of 
the man, and your love will turn to contempt. It is 
hard to do this, knowing that in doing it I kill the 
only genuine regret and dry the only tear that 
would bless my memory ; but it is the one sacrifice 
I can make to complete my self-humiliation, and it 
is the one thing that is left me that will free you. 
It will sting at first, but, like the surgeon’s knife, 
its cut is mercy. Nina, the very night I came to 
you on the bluffs, the very night you perilled your 
honor to have that parting interview, I went to you 
with a lie on my lips. I had told her we were 
nothing to each other, — you and I. More than 


294 


FROM THE RANKS 


that, I was seeking her love ; I hoped I could win 
her; and had she loved me I would have turned 
from you to make her my wife. Nina, I loved 
Alice Renwick. Good-by. Don’t mourn for me 
after this.” 


CHAPTER XX 

They were having a family conclave at Sablon. 
The furlough granted Sergeant McLeod on account 
of wound received in action with hostile Indians 
would soon expire, and the question was, should 
he ask an extension, apply for a discharge, or go 
back and rejoin his troop? It was a matter on 
which there was much diversity of opinion. Mrs. 
Maynard should naturally be permitted first choice, 
and to her wish there was every reason for accord- 
ing deep and tender consideration. No words can 
tell of the rapture of that reunion with her long-lost 
son. It was a scene over which the colonel could 
never ponder without deep emotion. The tele- 
grams and letters by which he carefully prepared 
her for Frederick’s coming were all insufficient. 
She knew well that her boy must have greatly 
changed and matured, but when this tall, bronzed, 
bearded, stalwart man sprang from the old red om- 
nibus and threw his one serviceable arm around 
her trembling form, the mother was utterly over- 
come. Alice left them alone together a full hour 
before even she intruded, and little by little, as the 

295 


296' 


FROM THE RANKS 


days went by and Mrs. Maynard realized that it 
was really her Fred who was whistling about the 
cottage or booming trooper songs in his great basso 
profundo, and glorying in his regiment and the 
cavalry life he had led, a wonderful content and 
joy shone in her handsome face. It was not until 
the colonel announced that it was about time for 
them to think of going back to Sibley that the 
cloud came. Fred said he couldn’t go. 

In fact, the colonel himself had been worrying a 
little over it. As Fred Renwick, the tall distin- 
guished young man in civilian costume, he would 
be welcome anywhere; but, though his garb was 
that of the sovereign citizen so long as his fur- 
lough lasted, there were but two weeks more of it 
left, and officially he was nothing more nor less 

than Sergeant McLeod, Troop B, th Cavalry, 

and there was no precedent for a colonel’s enter- 
taining as an honored guest and social equal one 
of the enlisted men of the army. He rather hoped 
Fred would yield to his mother’s entreaties and 
apply for a discharge. His wound and the latent 
trouble with his heart would probably render it an 
easy matter to obtain ; and yet he was ashamed of 
himself for the feeling. 

Then there was Alice. It was hardly to be sup- 


FROM THE RANKS 


297 


posed that so very high bred a young woman would 
relish the idea of being seen around Fort Sibley on 
the arm of her brother the sergeant; but, wonder- 
ful to relate, Miss Alice took a radically different 
view of the whole situation. So far from wishing 
Fred out of the army, she importuned him day after 
day until he got out his best uniform, with its re- 
splendent chevrons and stripes of vivid yellow, and 
the yellow helmet-cords, though they were but 
humble worsted, and when he came forth in that 
dress, with the bronze medal on his left breast and 
the sharpshooter’s silver cross, his tall athletic 
figure showing to such advantage, his dark, South- 
ern, manly features so enhanced by contrast with 
his yellow facings, she clapped her hands with a 
cry of delight and sprang into his one available arm 
and threw her own about his neck and kissed him 
again and again. Even mamma had to admit he 
looked astonishingly well; but Alice declared she 
would never thereafter be reconciled to seeing him 
in anything but a cavalry uniform. The colonel 
found her not at all of her mother’s way of think- 
ing. She saw no reason why Fred should leave the 
service. Other sergeants had won their commis- 
sions every year: why not he? Even if it were 
some time in coming, was there shame or degrada- 


298 


FROM THE RANKS 


tion in being a cavalry sergeant? Not a bit of it! 
Fred himself was loath to quit. He was getting a 
little homesick, too, — homesick for the boundless 
life and space and air of the broad frontier, — home- 
sick for the rapid movement and vigorous hours in 
the saddle and on the scout. His arm was healing, 
and such a delight of a letter had come from his 
captain, telling him that the adjutant had just been 
to see him about the new staff of the regiment. 
The gallant sergeant-major, a young Prussian of 
marked ability, had been killed early in the cam- 
paign; the vacancy must soon be filled, and the 
colonel and the adjutant both thought at once of 
Sergeant McLeod. “ I won’t stand in your way, 
sergeant,” wrote his troop commander, “ but you 
know that old Ryan is to be discharged at the end 
of his sixth enlistment the 10th of next month; 
there is no man I would sooner see in his place as 
first sergeant of my troop than yourself, and I hate 
to lose you ; but, as it will be for the gain and the 
good of the whole regiment, you ought to accept 
the adjutant’s offer. All the men rejoice to hear 
you are recovering so fast, and all will be glad to 
see Sergeant McLeod back again.” 

Even Mrs. Maynard could not but see the pride 
and comfort this letter gave her son. Her own 


FROM THE RANKS 


299 


longing was to have him established in some busi- 
ness in the East; but he said frankly he had no 
taste for it, and would only pine for the old life in 
the saddle. There were other reasons, too, said he, 
why he felt that he could not go back to New York, 
and his voice trembled, and Mrs. Maynard said no 
more. It was the sole allusion he had made to the 
old, old sorrow, but it was plain that the recovery 
was incomplete. The colonel and the doctor at 
Sibley believed that Fred could be carried past the 
medical board by a little management, and every- 
thing began to look as though he would have his 
way. All they were waiting for, said the colonel, 
was to hear from Armitage. He was still at Fort 
Russell with the head-quarters and several troops 

of the th Cavalry : his wound was too severe 

for him to travel farther for weeks to come, but he 
could write, and he had been consulted. They were 
sitting under the broad piazza at Sablon, looking 
out at the lovely, placid lake, and talking it over 
among themselves. 

“ I have always leaned on Armitage ever since 
I first came to the regiment and found him adju- 
tant,” said the colonel. “ I always found his judg- 
ment clear; but since our last experience I have 
begun to look upon him as infallible.” 


3 00 


FROM THE RANKS 


Alice Renwick’s face took on a flood of crimson 
as she sat there by her brother’s side, silent and 
attentive. Only within the week that followed 
their return — the colonel’s and her brother’s — had 
the story of the strange complication been revealed 
to them. Twice had she heard from Fred’s lips the 
story of Frank Armitage’s greeting that frosty 
morning at the springs. Time and again had she 
made her mother go over the colonel’s account of 
the confidence and faith he had expressed in there 
being a simple explanation of the whole mystery, 
and of his indignant refusal to attach one moment’s 
suspicion to her. Shocked, stunned, outraged as 
she felt at the mere fact that such a story had 
gained an instant’s credence in garrison circles, she 
was overwhelmed by the weight of circumstantial 
evidence that had been arrayed against her. Only 
little by little did her mother reveal it to her. Only 
after several days did Fred repeat the story of his 
night adventure and his theft of her picture, of 
his narrow escape, and of his subsequent visit to 
the cottage. Only gradually had her mother re- 
vealed to her the circumstances of Jerrold’s wager 
with Sloat, and the direful consequences; of his 
double absences the very nights on which Fred had 
made his visits ; of the suspicions that resulted, the 


FROM THE RANKS 


301 


accusations, and his refusal to explain and clear her 
name. Mrs. Maynard felt vaguely relieved to see 
how slight an impression the young man had made 
on her daughter's heart. Alice seemed but little 
surprised to hear of the engagement to Nina Beau- 
bien, of her rush to his rescue, and their romantic 
parting. The tragedy of his death hushed all 
further talk on that subject. There was one on 
which she could not hear enough, and that was 
about the man who had been most instrumental in 
the rescue of her name and honor. Alice had only 
tender sorrow and no reproach for her step-father 
when, after her mother told her the story of his 
sad experience twenty years before, she related his 
distress of mind and suspicion when he read Jer- 
rold’s letter. It was then that Alice said, “ And 
against that piece of evidence no man, I suppose, 
would hold me guiltless." 

“ You are wrong, dear," was her mother’s an- 
swer. “ It was powerless to move Captain Armi- 
tage. He scouted the idea of your guilt from the 
moment he set eyes on you, and never rested until 
he had overturned the last atom of evidence. Even 
I had to explain," said her mother, “ simply to con- 
firm his theory of the light Captain Chester had 
seen, and the shadows and the form at the window. 


302 


FROM THE RANKS 


It was just exactly as Armitage reasoned it out. 
I was wretched and wakeful, sleeping but fitfully, 
that night. I arose and took some bromide about 
three o’clock and soon afterwards heard a fall, or 
a noise like one. I thought of you, and got up and 
went in your room, and all was quiet there, but it 
seemed close and warm: so I raised your shade, 
and then left both your door and mine open and 
went back to bed. I dozed away presently, and 
then woke feeling all startled again, — don’t you 
know ? — the sensation one experiences when 
aroused from sleep, certain that there has been a 
strange and startling noise, and yet unable to tell 
what it was ? I lay still a moment, but the colonel 
slept through it all, and I wondered at it. I knew 
there had been a shot, or something, but could not 
bear to disturb him. At last I got up again and 
went to your room to be sure you were all right, 
and you were sleeping soundly still; but a breeze 
was beginning to blow and flap your shade to and 
fro, so I drew it and went out, taking my lamp 
with me this time and softly closing your door be- 
hind me. See how it all seemed to fit in with every- 
thing else that had happened. It took a man with 
a will of his own and an unshaken faith in woman 
to stand firm against such evidence.” 


FROM THE RANKS 


303 


And, though Alice Renwick was silent, she ap- 
preciated the fact none the less. Day after day she 
clung to her stalwart brother’s side. She had 
ceased to ask questions about Captain Armitage 
and that strange greeting after the first day or two, 
but, oddly enough, she could never let him talk long 
of any subject but that campaign, of his ride with 
the captain to the front, of the long talk they had 
had, and then the stirring fight and the magnificent 
way in which Armitage had handled his long 
skirmish-line. He was enthusiastic in his praise of 
the tall Saxon captain. He soon noted how silent 
and absorbed she sat when he was the theme of 
discourse; he incidentally mentioned little things 
“ he” had said about “ her” that morning, and 
marked how her color rose and her eyes flashed 
quick, joyful, questioning glance at his face, then 
fell in maiden shyness. He had speedily gauged 
the cause of that strange excitement displayed by 
Armitage at seeing him the morning he rode in 
with the scout. Now he was gauging, with infinite 
delight, the other side of the question. Then, 
brother-like, he began to twit and tease her; and 
that was the last of the confidences. 

All the same it was an eager group that sur- 
rounded the colonel the evening he came down with 


304 


FROM THE RANKS 


the captain’s letter. “ It settles the thing in my 
mind. We’ll go back to Sibley to-morrow ; and as 
for you, Sergeant-Major Fred, your name has gone 
in for a commission, and I’ve no doubt a very de- 
serving sergeant will be spoiled in making a very 
good-for-nothing second lieutenant. Get you back 
to your regiment, sir, and call on Captain Armi- 
tage as soon as you reach Fort Russell, and tell 
him you are much obliged. He has been blowing 
your trumpet for you there ; and, as some of those 
cavalrymen have sense enough to appreciate the 
opinion of such a soldier as my ex-adjutant, — 
some of them, mind you : I don’t admit that all 
cavalrymen have sense enough to keep them out of 
perpetual trouble, — you came in for a hearty en- 
dorsement, and you’ll probably be up before the 
next board for examination. Go and bone your 
Constitution, and the Rule of Three, and who was 
the father of Zebedee’s children, and the order of 
the Ptolemies and the Seleucidae, and other such 
things that they’ll be sure to ask you as indispensa- 
ble to the mental outfit of an Indian-fighter.” It 
was evident that the colonel was in joyous mood. . 
'But Alice was silent. She wanted to hear the let- 
ter. He would have handed it to Frederick, but 
both Mrs. Maynard and Aunt Grace clamored to 


FROM THE RANKS 


305 

hear it read aloud: so he cleared his throat and 
began : 

“ My dear Colonel, — Fred's chances for a 
commission are good, as the enclosed papers will 
show you ; but even were this not the case I would 
have but one thing to say in answer to your letter : 
he should go back to his troop. 

“ Whatever our friends and fellow-citizens may 
think on the subject, I hold that the profession of 
the soldier is to the full as honorable as any in civil 
life; and it is liable at any moment to be more 
useful. I do not mean the officer alone. I say, and 
mean, the soldier. As for me, I would rather be 
first sergeant of my troop or company, or sergeant- 
major of my regiment, than any lieutenant in it 
except the adjutant. Hope of promotion is all that 
can make a subaltern's life endurable, but the staff- 
sergeant or the first sergeant, honored and re- 
spected by his officers, decorated for bravery by 
Congress, and looked up to by his comrades, is a 
king among men. The pay has. nothing to do with 
it. I say to Renwick, ‘ Come back as soon as your 
wound will let you,’ and I envy him the welcome 
that will be his. 

“ As for me, I am even more eager to get back to 


20 


3°6 


FROM THE RANKS 


you all; but things look very dubious. The doc- 
tors shake their heads at anything under a month, 
and say I’ll be lucky if I eat my Thanksgiving 
dinner with you. If trying to get well is going to 
help, October shall not be done with before B Com- 
pany will report me present again. 

“ I need not tell you, my dear old friend, how I 
rejoice with you in your — hum and haw and this 
is all about something else,” goes on the colonel, in 
malignant disregard of the longing looks in the 
eyes of three women, all of whom are eager to hear 
the rest of it, and one of whom wouldn’t say so for 
worlds. “ Write to me often. Remember me 
warmly to the ladies of your household. I fear 
Miss Alice would despise this wild, open prairie- 
country; there is no golden-rod here, and I so 
often see her as — hum and hum and all that sort 
of talk of no interest to anybody,” says he, with a 
quizzical look over his “ bows” at the lovely face 
and form bending forward with forgetful eagerness 
to hear how “ he so often sees her.” And there 
is a great bunch of golden-rod in her lap now, and 
a vivid blush on her cheek. The colonel is waxing 
as frivolous as Fred, and quite as great a tease. 

And then October comes, and Fred has gone, and 
the colonel and his household are back at Sibley, 


FROM THE RANKS 


307 


where the garrison is enraptured at seeing them, 
and where the women precipitate themselves upon 
them in tumultuous welcome. If Alice cannot 
quite make up her mind to return the kisses, and 
shrinks slightly from the rapturous embrace of 
some of the younger and more impulsive of the 
sisterhood, — if Mrs. Maynard is a trifle more dis- 
tant and stately than was the case before they went 
away, — the garrison does not resent it. The ladies 
don’t wonder they feel indignant at the way people 
behaved and talked ; and each lady is sure that the 
behavior and the talk were all somebody else’s; 
not by any possible chance could it be laid at the 
door of the speaker. And Alice is the reigning 
belle beyond dispute, though there is only subdued 
gayety at the fort, for the memory of their losses 
at the Spirit Wolf is still fresh in the minds of the 
regiment. But no man alludes to the events of 
the black August night, no woman is permitted to 
address either Mrs. Maynard or her daughter on 
the subject. There are some who seek to be con- 
fidential and who cautiously feel their way for an 
opening, but the mental sparring is vain : there is 
an indefinable something that teils the intruder, 
“Thus far, and no farther.” Mrs. Maynard is 
courteous, cordial, and hospitable, Alice sweet and 


308 FROM THE RANKS 

gracious and sympathetic, even, but confidential 
never. 

And then Captain Armitage, late in the month, 
comes home on crutches, and his men give him a 
welcome that makes the rafters ring, and he re- 
joices in it and thanks them from his heart; but 
there is a welcome his eyes plead for that would 
mean to him far more than any other. How wist- 
fully he studies her face! How unmistakable is 
the love and worship in every tone ! How quickly 
the garrison sees it all, and how mad the garrison 
is to see whether or not ’tis welcome to her ! But 
Alice Renwick is no maiden to be lightly won. The 
very thought that the garrison had so easily given 
her over to Jerrold is enough to mantle her cheek 
with indignant protest. She accepts his attentions, 
as she does those of the younger officers, with con- 
summate grace. She shows no preference, will 
grant no favors. She makes fair distribution of 
her dances at the hops at the fort and the parties 
in town. There are young civilians who begin to 
be devoted in society and to come out to the fort 
on every possible opportunity, and these, too, she 
welcomes with laughing grace and cordiality. She 
is a glowing, radiant, gorgeous beauty this cool 
autumn, and she rides and drives and dances, and, 


FROM THE RANKS 


309 


the women say, flirts, and looks handsomer every 
day, and poor Armitage is beginning to look very 
grave and depressed. “ He wooes and wins not,” 
is the cry. His wound has almost healed, so far as 
the thigh is concerned, and his crutches are dis- 
carded, but his heart is bleeding, and it tells on his 
general condition. The doctors say he ought to be 
getting well faster, and so they tell Miss Renwick, 
— at least somebody does ; but still she relents not, 
and it is something beyond the garrison’s power of 
conjecture to decide what the result will be. Into 
her pretty white-and-yellow room no one penetrates 
except at her invitation, even when the garrison 
ladies are spending the day at the colonel’s; and 
even if they did there would be no visible sign by 
which they could judge whether his flowers were 
treasured or his picture honored above others. 
Into her brave and beautiful nature none can gaze 
and say with any confidence either “ she loves” or 
“ she loves not.” Winter comes, with biting cold 
and blinding snow, and still there is no sign. The 
joyous holidays, the glad New Year, are almost at 
hand, and still there is no symptom of surrender. 
No one dreams of the depth and reverence and 
gratitude and loyalty and strength of the love that 
is burning in her heart until, all of a sudden, in the 


3io 


FROM THE RANKS 


most unexpected and astonishing way, it bursts 
forth in sight of all. 

They had been down skating on the slough, a 
number of the youngsters and the daughters of the 
garrison. Rollins was there doing the devoted to 
Mamie Gray, and already there were gossips whis- 
pering that she would soon forget she ever knew 
such a beau as Jerrold in the new-found happiness 
of another one; Hall was there with the doctor’s 
pretty daughter, and Mrs. Hoyt was matronizing 
the party, which would, of course, have been in- 
complete without Alice. She had been skating 
hand in hand with a devoted young subaltern in the 
artillery, and poor Armitage, whose leg was un- 
equal to skating, had been ruefully admiring the 
scene. He had persuaded Sloat to go out and walk 
with him, and Sloat went ; but the hollow mockery 
of the whole thing became apparent to him after 
they had been watching the skaters awhile, and he 
got chilled and wanted Armitage to push ahead. 
The captain said he believed his leg was too stiff 
for further tramping and would be the better for a 
rest ; and Sloat left him. 

Heavens ! how beautiful she was, with her spark- 
ling eyes and radiant color, glowing with the grace- 
ful exercise ! He sat there on an old log, watching 


FROM THE RANKS 


3ii 

the skaters as they flew by him, and striving to 
keep up an impartial interest, or an appearance of 
it, for the other girls. But the red sun was going 
down, and twilight was on them all of a sudden, 
and he could see nothing but that face and form. 
He closed his eyes a moment to shut out the too 
eager glare of the glowing disk taking its last fierce 
peep at them over the western bluffs, and as he 
closed them the same vision came back, — the pict- 
ure that had haunted his every living, dreaming 
moment since the beautiful August Sunday in the 
woodland lane at Sablon. With undying love, 
with changeless passion, his life was given over to 
the fair, slender maiden he had seen in all the glory 
of the sunshine and the golden-rod, standing with 
uplifted head, with all her soul shining in her 
beautiful eyes and thrilling in her voice. Both 
worshipping and worshipped was Alice Renwick 
as she sang her hymn of praise in unison with the 
swelling chorus that floated through the trees from 
the little brown church upon the hill. From that 
day she was Queen Alice in every thought, and he 
her loyal, faithful knight for weal or woe. 

Boom went the sunset gun far up on the parade 
above them. Twas dinner-time, and the skaters 
were compelled to give up their pastime. Armi- 


3 12 


FROM THE RANKS 


tage set his teeth at the entirely too devotional 
attitude of the artilleryman as he slowly and linger- 
ingly removed her skates, and turned away in that 
utterly helpless frame of mind which will overtake 
the strongest men on similar occasions. He had 
been sitting too long in the cold, and was chilled 
through and stiff, and his wounded leg seemed 
numb. Leaning heavily on his stout stick, he began 
slowly and painfully the ascent to the railway, and 
chose for the purpose a winding path that was far 
less steep, though considerably longer, than the 
sharp climb the girls and their escorts made so light 
of. One after another the glowing faces of the fair 
skaters appeared above the embankment, and their 
gallants carefully convoyed them across the icy and 
slippery track to the wooden platform beyond. 
Armitage, toiling slowly up his pathway, heard 
their blithe laughter, and thought with no little 
bitterness that it was a case of “ out of sight out 
of mind” with him, as with better men. What 
sense was there in his long devotion to her ? Why 
stand between her and the far more natural choice 
of a lover nearer her years? “ Like unto like” was 
Nature’s law. It was flying in the face of Provi- 
dence to expect to win the love of one so young 
and fair, when others so young and comely craved 


FROM THE RANKS 


3i3 


it. The sweat was beaded on his forehead as he 
neared the top and came in sight of the platform. 
■Yes, they had no thought for him. Already Mrs. 
Hoyt was half-way up the wooden stairs, and the 
others were scattered more or less between that 
point and the platform at the station. Far down at 
the south end paced the fur-clad sentry. There it 
was an easy step from the track to the boards, and 
there, with much laughter but no difficulty, the 
young officers had lifted their fair charges to the 
walk. All were chatting gayly as they turned away 
to take the wooden causeway from the station to 
the stairs, and Miss Renwick was among the fore- 
most at the point where it left the platform. Here, 
however, she glanced back and then about her, and 
then, bending down, began fumbling at the but- 
tons of her boot. 

“ Oh, permit me, Miss Renwick,” said her eager 
escort. “ I will button it.” 

“ Thanks, no. Please don’t wait, good people. 
I’ll be with you in an instant.” 

And so the other girls, absorbed in talk with their 
respective gallants, passed her by, and then Alice 
Renwick again stood erect and looked anxiously 
but quickly back. 

“ Captain Armitage is not in sight, and we ought 


3H 


FROM THE RANKS 


not to leave him. He may not find it easy to climb 
to that platform/’ she said. 

“ Armitage? Oh, he’ll come on all right,” an- 
swered the batteryman, with easy assurance. 
“ Maybe he has gone round by the road. Even if 
he hasn’t, I’ve seen him make that in one jump 
many a time. He’s an active old buffer for his 
years.” 

“ But his wound may prove too much for that 
jump now. Ah! there he comes,” she answered, 
with evident relief; and just at the moment, too, 
the forage-cap of the tall soldier rose slowly into 
view some distance up the track, and he came walk- 
ing slowly down on the sharp curve towards the 
platform, the same sharp curve continuing on out 
of sight behind him, — behind the high and rocky 
bluff. 

“ He’s taken the long way up,” said the gunner. 
“ Well, shall we go on?” 

“ Not yet,” she said, with eyes that were glow- 
ing strangely and a voice that trembled. Her 
cheeks, too, were paling. “ Mr. Stuart, I’m sure 
I heard the roar of a train echoed back from the 
other side.” 

“Nonsense, Miss Renwick! There’s no train 
either way for two hours yet.” 


FROM THE RANKS 


3i5 


But she had begun to edge her way back towards 
the platform, and he could not but follow. Look- 
ing across the intervening space, — a rocky hollow 
twenty feet in depth, — he could see that the cap- 
tain had reached the platform and was seeking for 
a good place to step up ; then that he lifted his right 
foot and placed it on the planking and with his cane 
and the stiff and wounded left leg strove to push 
himself on. Had there been a hand to help him, 
all would have been easy enough; but there was 
none, and the plan would not work. Absorbed in 
his efforts, he could not see Stuart ; he did not see 
that Miss Renwick had left her companions and 
was retracing her steps to get back to the platform. 
He heard a sudden dull roar from the rocks across 
the stream ; then a sharp, shrill whistle just around 
the bluff. My God! a train, and that man there, 
alone, helpless, deserted! Stuart gave a shout of 
agony : “ Back ! Roll back over the bank !” Ar- 
mitage glanced around; determined; gave one 
mighty effort; the iron-ferruled stick slipped on 
the icy track, and down he went, prone between 
the glistening rails, even as the black vomiting 
monster came thundering round the bend. He had 
struck his head upon the iron, and was stunned, 
not senseless, but scrambled to his hands and knees 


3i6 


FROM THE RANKS 


and strove to crawl away. Even as he did so he 
heard a shriek of anguish in his ears, and with 
one wild leap Alice Renwick came flying from the 
platform in the very face of advancing death, and 
the next instant, her arm clasped about his neck, 
his strong arms tightly clasping her , they were 
lying side by side, bruised, stunned, but safe, in a 
welcoming snow-drift half-way down the hither 
bank. 

When Stuart reached the scene, as soon as the 
engine and some wrecking-cars had thundered by, 
he looked down upon a picture that dispelled any 
lingering doubt in his mind. Armitage, clasping 
Queen Alice to his heart, was half rising from the 
blessed mantlet of the snow, and she, her head upon 
his broad shoulder, was smiling faintly up into his 
face : then the glorious eyes closed in a death like 
swoon. 

Fort Sibley had its share of sensations that 
eventful year. Its crowning triumph in the one 
that followed was the wedding in the early spring. 
Of all the lovely women there assembled, the bride 
by common consent stood unrivalled, — Queen 
Alice indeed. There was some difference of opin- 
ion among authorities as to who was really the 


FROM THE RANKS 


317 

finest-looking and most soldierly among the throng 
of officers in the conventional full-dress uniform: 
many there were who gave the palm to the tall, 
dark, slender lieutenant of cavalry who wore his 
shoulder-knots for the first time on this occasion, 
and who, for a man from the ranks, seemed con- 
summately at home in the manifold and trying du- 
ties of a groomsman. Mrs. Maynard, leaning on 
his arm at a later hour and looking up rapturously 
in his bronzed features, had no divided opinion. 
,While others had by no means so readily forgotten 
or forgiven the mad freak that so nearly involved 
them all in wretched misunderstanding, she had 
nothing but rejoicing in his whole career. Proud 
of the gallant officer who had won the daughter 
whom she loved so tenderly, she still believes, in 
the depths of the boundless mother-love, that no 
man can quite surpass her soldier son. 


THE END 



LIST OF POPULAR NOVELS. 


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J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY, PHILADELPHIA. 


LIST OF POPULAR NOVELS. 


By Baroness Von Hutten. 

Miss Carmichael's Conscience. 

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“The most notable new book of the hour .” — Philadelphia 
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J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY, PHILADELPHIA. 


OCT 19 1901 


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